#The other day someone was like I can’t find it
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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. all sukuna needs is someone to take care of his needs after a stressful day—that someone being you, his favorite concubine.
tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. smut, angst towards the end. objectification kinda, size kínk, p in v -> unprotected, choking (nearly goes wrong), breeding kink, standing doggy, sukuna has two cawks, reader gets called ‘(little) slut, doll’. uhh sukuna has cannibal-ish desires.. idk how to explain it.
“you,” sukuna barges into the dining hall, not batting an eye to all the other women sitting around. his sharp gaze immediately finds yours in-between the crowd. that’s when you realise that he’s clearly pissed off at someone or something.
everyone freezes and stops eating—scurrying to politely greet and bow at the king of curses. you do the same after a second of processing his unexpected presence.
sukuna barks a command before you can part your lips to ask a question, “into my chambers. now.”
the servants and concubines all look on with wide eyes. they know what that means. some are blushing from embarrassment at sukuna’s bold choice of words—others are silently seething with envy because you’re the centre of his attention again.
all eyes are on you as you get up to follow sukuna. you’re nervous yet also somewhat excited. you were unable to walk straight for a few days the last time sukuna looked and sounded that angry.
but, the embarrassment is certainly also present. especially because everyone knows what the mighty sorcerer and his concubine are going to be up to for the upcoming hours.
“strip,” sukuna firmly says the second you enter his room. you’re used to his distant, rushed behaviour at this point, so you comply. you undo all robes—leaving you completely bare in front of him.
sukuna’s canine teeth show as he grins at the welcoming sight. he steps towards you, his rough hands coming up to fondle your body. he squeezes and fondles your soft flesh with surprising care, “mhmm. this ‘s all i needed.”
it isn’t long before your small body is caged against the nearest wall. your breasts are squished by the cold concrete, your hands the only thing keeping your balance. your fingernails hurt because of you repeatedly scratching the wall.
“i know y’ can get louder than that,” sukuna hisses and sinks his sharp canines into your shoulder. he’s splitting you open, his thick cock dragging along your velvety walls with a purpose. the king of curses unapologetically draws a bit of blood from your flesh, “tsk—moan like the fuckin’ slut you are.”
and you do as told. your voice gets so loud to the point that it’s embarrassing, but you can’t care less. your insides are begging sukuna to continue—to not stop until they’ve turned into mush. until they’re painted white with loads and loads of thick and slippery cum.
“tha’s it, doll,” sukuna huffs as his tongue licks over the bite mark he left on your shoulder. his eyes flash a dangerous red at the sight. he’s doing all he can to suppress the urge to eat you up.
literally.
he’s got this aching carnal desire to devour you. to consume you like it’s his last meal on earth. sukuna can’t stand it, though he tries his best. you’re an interesting human; the reactions you elicit from him are strong. like no one has been able to do so before.
“need more, my lord,” you beg between interrupted moans. you’re drunk on pleasure, oblivious to the fact that sukuna is fighting off his inner demons. you’re obsessed with the way his hips roughly slam against your ass. your body is on fire, “more—more, fnghhh, more!”
all four of sukuna’s hands tighten around your hips and waist. he squeezes you until you feel his nails painfully dig into your skin. you’re making it so hard for him; acting this needy, begging him to ravage you and claim your cunt, mind and soul.
“lost y’r fuckin’ manners, hm?” sukuna grumbles and slaps your ass as punishment, “beg properly.” he spreads your asscheeks after that, squishing the plump fat in attempt to withstand his own sick thoughts.
you look delicious. your dripping pussy that’s wetting both his cocks looks delicious. your body that is much smaller compared to his looks powerless and. . . delicious.
“‘m sorry—please, pleaseee!” you mewl, eyes rolling back into your skull. you’ll never get tired of being pounded until you’re unable to think or talk properly. it’s even better with sukuna, his two cocks are enough to keep you stuffed and satisfied for nth amount of time.
your breath hitches as you feel your feet being lifted from the floor. your legs dangle in the air as sukuna readjusts his grasp on your body so he could support you up against the wall. the new angle he’s fucking you in only increases all the pleasure.
you’re not sure if you can even keep up with him at this point. you’re brainlessly allowing him to position your body however he sees fit.
“shittt, yeah,” sukuna nearly salivates at the sight of your small body accepting its fate. you’re either super easy to please, or he’s just good at what he’s doing. no matter which one it is—sukuna’s making sure that you’re not going to be able to walk after he’s done.
he plunges his upper cock in and out of your wet cunt. each thrust is different than the one before, the pace quickening before slowing down again. he’s clearly teasing you and that’s exactly what drives you crazy.
“my lord—mmh! so deep,” you hiccup, nearly crying because of how many times sukuna hits that sweet spot deep inside your leaking pussy. your brain has shut down and all you can focus on is his thick cock that’s making you moan uncontrollably.
sukuna curses under his breath. you’re so desperate and it makes him want to do unspeakable things. he wants to have you all to himself. he doesn’t know what that overbearing emotion is and it’s frustrating him to no end.
the king of curses only increases his pace after that. he attempts to decrease the flow of thought inside of his mind by pounding you harder. your entire body is trembling and jolting back and forth in place, every thrust of his is met with a loud moan of yours.
“quit whining ‘n just take it,” sukuna pants, not paying mind to your jumbled up sentences. there’s no need for words, his current and only goal is to make your cunt overflow with his cum. if he can’t claim you in an inhuman way, he’ll resort to mark your insides, so no man even thinks of speaking or touching what’s his.
you can feel the passion behind sukuna’s thrusts. you’re still not over the fact that he’s using you like a ragdoll to get himself off. but, it also feels insanely good at the same time. you nod and nod, wanting to satisfy each of sukuna’s desires.
“i’ll let ‘em know,” the king of curses groans once he feels you involuntarily squeeze his upper cock. his lower cock slides between your thighs, back and forth, getting its own stimulation. sukuna finishes his sentence with a guttural grunt, “i’ll let everyone know y’r mine ‘nd mine only.”
he’s serious about this. his hands squeeze your form and you moan at the act of ownership. by the increase of his harsh thrusts, you can tell that he’s close. close to dumping his hot load into your cunt and breed your womb full of him.
sukuna can’t get the image out of his head. you, fully bred, by no one else but him. how you’d walk around the estate with his cum pooling between your legs. the other concubines are going to seethe the second they smell his scent on you— something they can only dream of.
“take it — fucking take it,” sukuna gets more aggressive with the second. he yearns for a release, one that will destress him. though the closer he gets to his climax, the more those carnal desires threaten to take over.
you squeal as you feel one of sukuna’s hands wrap around your neck. he squeezes your throat until you’re gasping for air. you don’t know what’s suddenly got into him, but you’re too far gone to care.
you can hear him growling in your ear from behind—his hips not stopping even as you reach your own orgasm. you curl your fingers around sukuna’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip around your throat before you lose consciousness, “m-mmhhh, can’t breathe.”
your sobs echo throughout the chambers. your climax leaves you spasming in sukuna’s grasp, your cunt feels like it’s on fire as it continues being overstimulated.
sukuna’s too far gone as well. you can feel drops of his drool fall on your bare back. his red eyes are wide, looking down at you like you’re his meal for the day. figuratively, you are. though the king of curses has a desire that urges him to take it literally.
“r-ryo, please!”
it’s only then that sukuna snaps back to his usual self. hearing you call him by that nickname you created both calms him down and turns him on. he loosens the grip on your throat and instead presses you harshly against the wall with one final thrust.
he spills all his heavy balls have stored into your cunt. your pussy floods with his potent seed, the sticky fluid easily finding its way into your womb. you whimper at the warm feeling—sukuna always cums so much. literal buckets.
you can feel the same sticky feeling on your thighs, as well as on the wall after his lower cock spurts out ropes of cum too. you feel yourself being lowered to the floor and you lean against the hard surface to catch your breath.
you take a look over your shoulder and see how sukuna’s eyes are partially hidden behind his sweaty bangs. there’s a dark aura surrounding him, though it slowly disappears the more he calms down.
his hands are still holding your body in place, not ready to let go of you. his upper cock softens up inside of you and you’re unsure of what to do. the silence - except for the heavy breathing - makes you question if you did something wrong.
“something the matter, my lord?” you ask between faint gasps. sukuna doesn’t answer you and instead lets go of your body, pulling himself out of you right after.
if he keeps himself inside of you, he’ll lose it. he’ll do something he feels like he’ll eventually regret.
“get dressed,” sukuna commands harshly. he doesn’t even look at you anymore. he simply pulls the robes over his body again and covers himself. you’re confused, but you do as told either way.
you’re shaking as you fix your undergarments before pulling your kimono over your body again. you’ll fix your make up and disheveled hair later. first, you need to figure out why sukuna’s acting so cold.
sure - he’s always been like that, aftercare and affection was never really his forte - but it’s somehow worse today. once you’re done dressing up, you obediently stand in front of sukuna, looking up at him like you’re expecting another command.
this is usually the moment where you can just relax in his chambers until you fall asleep or until you’ve calmed down. though, today felt off. you’re uneasy by the tension in the air.
the oblivious look in your eyes nearly makes the king of curses pounce on you. you’re so oblivious to what’s going on in his mind. the images that flash through his mind—of you underneath him as he claims your flesh and bones.
your soul. your heart.
“get out,” sukuna hisses. he does not need to spend another second with you in his personal space. no good will come out of it anyway. he can smell himself on you and it’s triggering those same urges that he was fighting off just moments ago.
he longs to sink his teeth in every part of your flesh. to eat you whole like it’s his right.
he clenches his fists and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. to you, sukuna looks mad. perhaps a bit confused with how he’s feeling. he still doesn’t understand why he’s having such strong feelings towards you.
he yearns to claim ownership over you in more ways than one.
you gulp and know that sukuna is not to be messed with when he’s like this. even if you don’t realise why, you simply nod and bow at him before walking out of his chambers. not a word has to be spoken.
you close his doors behind you and yet can’t seem to move away. you’re unsure of what that last interaction between you two meant.
the look in sukuna’s eyes contained something so primal. no, feral.
you remember how he choked you until you were on the verge of passing out. how he held you like he wanted to possess your every being. how he squeezed your body between his and the wall, leaving you no space to breathe.
you run your fingers over the mark on your shoulder. you hiss; the bite mark stung. it didn’t during the moment because of the adrenaline, but now that the effects of the hormone have worn off, you realise just how deep it was. sukuna normally gives you light and small bites, but this one was different.
everything about that passionate session was unusual, overwhelming and… primal.
just what in the world was that?
#sttoru writes.#jjk smut#jjk x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#jjk imagines
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andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)
a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.
note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five, five being the most recent part. read part five here
18+
warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance
a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!
Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.
The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list.
He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying.
Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist.
“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him.
Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up.
“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”
“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”
It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now.
“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”
“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”
“Alright. Got your phone handy?”
It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.
“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”
Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you.
Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone.
He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself.
But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.
So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much.
Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy.
Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine.
Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol.
So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is.
“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”
He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her.
“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”
She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall.
“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”
“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance.
She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that.
But god, does he think about you like that.
His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee.
Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—
He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand.
Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought.
But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.
“Found it okay?”
Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her.
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse.
There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom.
It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.
At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again.
But.
That’s all contingent.
No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same.
The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.
In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies.
Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him.
And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him.
The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.
Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back.
If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.
And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out.
Not again.
But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.
Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can.
Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is.
It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too.
He sends you a text—the third message in a row.
The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years.
I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#dr spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine
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an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two
It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay.
Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top.
It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.
As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.
Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in.
He never claimed to be a good man.
(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)
Just an honest one.
So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.
Rinse and repeat.
The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.
You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.
He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart.
Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.
Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”
A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”
“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air.
“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”
You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.
“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.
It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.
(A mindfuck is what it is.)
#simon ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#ghost smut#ghost x you#cod smut#cod x reader#cod fic#cod imagine#mw2 x reader#mw2 smut#mw2 imagine#.things i write
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HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
showering their wife some love 💗
PAIRING: you x jjk men
includes: kissing, praise, biting, fluff, crack, suggestiveness (can’t find out how to do the colour gradient thing on mobile 💔 i’ll try to find out how soon dw 🔥)
not gonna include all the men but i might do something related to this in the future!
love them <3
✶⋆.˚ GOJO SATORU
you woke up to the feeling of someone gently jumping on your bed. eyes fluttering open, you took in the sight of your lovely husband with your baby in his arms, making their chubby legs bounce around beside you.
“toru.. what’re you doing?” you smiled while wiping the sleep from your eyes. his piercing, yet soothing blue eyes staring at you. a huge grin was plastered on his face as he gently handed you the baby while you sat up.
“mornin’ baby.” he spoke, admiration in his tone. it always was there, but thicker than usual. he sat down on the bed beside you, pulling you into a kiss. he pulled away and took something out his pocket. something like a credit card?
you took it from his hands. “hun? this is..?”
“money. bought you a specific card linked to my account with a specific amount of money in it for special days.” he said confidently, kissing your cheek.
“special day..? today is..” your baby gently tugged on your shirt, smiling up at you.
“ma! mama!” you cooed at the baby, tapping her nose. “yes baby?”
“ma.. mama day..!!” you laughed softly, kissing your baby on the forehead as satoru watched you do so.
he’s so grateful to land you.
“mother’s day.” he whispered. you looked at him, your smile wider. you brought your other hand and grabbed his, kissing his palm.
“you’re ridiculous. you waking me up with our baby and giving me a whole card? did you teach her to say that as well?” he laughed, nodding and letting go of your hand to circle around your waist and pulled you closer to him. he kissed your jaw affectionately.
“‘course darling. anything for you. you know that, right?” you nodded, letting go of our baby and letting her crawl into his lap. you nuzzled your forehead against his, sighing contently.
“i’m so lucky to have you.” you mumbled.
“our baby is lucky to have you as her mama, ain’t that right?” and your baby giggled beneath him, innocent eyes sparkling.
he had his eyes.
✶⋆.˚ SUGURU GETO
you had to run errands, coming back with a loving kiss from your husband. “hey baby,” he whispered against your lips. “missed you.”
you giggled, kissing his cheek. he took notice of the grocery bags you were holding, immediately taking them from your hands. he began walking to the kitchen, you following right behind him. he placed the bags on the table.
you looked around for a moment, noticing how there was a rose petal on the floor.
“baby?” he hummed, turning around and raised an eyebrow. you picked up the rose petal, showing it to him.
“was this you?” he looked confused, grabbing it.
“no..? i would’ve shown you flowers if i bought them, babe.” you turned to the hallway, seeing more. a path?
you began following the path, suguru following in confusion.
it led to your shared bedroom. you turned the handle, candles and rose petals in the shape of a heart on the floor. you walked inside, the smell of the candles was comforting.
until you heard the door shut and lock with a ‘click!’ behind you.
“sugu..” he laughed softly behind you, scooping you into his arms swiftly and putting you down on the bed, trapping you between his arms.
“happy mother’s day, darling.” he whispered, kissing your neck as you squirmed, still trying to render in what was happening.
“m-mothers day?” you ask. “i don’t..”
“you already treat the girls well, baby. why don’t we make one ourselves?” he asked, his lips still attached to your skin.
“unless you’re not ready.” he corrected, now lifting his face and hovering over you. you thought for a moment.
a baby.. with him.
and with a nod, the two of you went in heated, out with a content sigh.
“i love you baby.” he whispered. you whimpered in response, voice slack from his repetitive thrusts and rough teasing. he only smirked in response, taking your lips against his instead.
✶⋆.˚ TOJI FUSHIGURO
you were busy making dinner, toji and megumi in the living room toying around. as you tossed vegetables into the boiling pot, a tug at your leg was felt and you looked down to see megumi and a huge grin on his face.
“hey megs.. what’s up?” you kneeled down, scooping him up and cradling him with one hand as you stirred the pot. he simply giggled in your grasp, little hands holding onto your arm.
toji came by from behind, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against his chest. “he said he missed you. tired of playing with daddy, huh?” he looked at megumi, a laidback smile on his face.
“dada wanted me to.. say something to you!” megumi exclaimed, making you pause with dinner. you looked over at megumi then over your shoulder to toji.
“i swear.. if you taught him something naughty like you did earlier..” toji’s rasp laugh filled the room, his chin resting on your shoulder and a kiss to your neck. “no ma, trust me.”
you playfully rolled your eyes and turned off the stove, looking back at megumi. “so megs? what’s up?” your other available hand went down and held toji’s hand, his large one interlocking fingers with yours.
“happy.. mother’s day!” he said, toji cheering behind you. one of his arms unwrapped your waist and went to ruffle megumi’s hair. a proud father.
“good job!” he praised, your eyes widening at the wholesome sight.
“oh my god!!” you say, laughing softly. “that’s what it was?” megumi nodded happily, toji’s cheering dimmed but his proud expression didn’t.
“i knew he could do it. got the confidence from his dad.” toji smirked and kissed your cheek before letting go of you, taking megumi from you. he let go of him, tossing him in the air and caching him. you snickered, shaking your head as you turned the heat on the stove on again.
toji let go of megumi, his little legs running to the living room before toji stood beside you, kissing your cheek.
“happy mother’s day, ma.” he said smoothly. you looked at him and kissed the corner of his lip, where the scar was. you could’ve sworn you saw hearts in his eyes.
“go monitor gumi, hun.” his hand met your ass and gave it a firm squeeze, a gasp leaving your lips. he smirked, lips going to your neck and sucking, leaving a fresh hickey.
“annnddd?” he coos, peppering kisses on your shoulder.
you sighed, smiling. “i’ll give you something in the bedroom later for my gift of gratitude.”
he gave your ass a squeeze again. “good girl.”
you could hear megumi call for toji and he gave you one more kiss on the cheek and a quick ‘love you’ before he went to the living room.
✶⋆.˚ NANAMI KENTO
you were waiting for kento to come home. he hated working overtime but he was still out.. for an hour.
worry filled you, but it quickly diminished when you heard the front door open. you rushed over, seeing him and his handsome face. a sigh left your lips as you embraced him, his hand going over and pressing against the small of your back.
“hey darling.” he mumbled. his other hand came and handed you a bouquet of flowers.
“aww ken! you got me these?” you smiled, kissing his cheek as he closed the door behind him and took off his coat and work shoes.
“mhm. today is mother’s day and even if we don’t have a kid, doesn’t mean that i’m gonna skip today.” you stared at your husband, tilting your head.
“huh—?” and he showed you a cage.. for a pet.
“NANAMI KENTO I’M GONNA MARRY YOU.” you screamed excitedly, taking the cage from him and running to the living room, his deep chuckles heard behind you as he followed suit. even if you didn’t know what was inside, you had a hunch. “we already are.” he says.
you giggled as you took off the blanket that covered the cage, revealing a small baby golden retriever. you tried not to scream again, not wanting to hurt the poor puppy. the dog wagged its tail happily, letting out small barks.
“i know that you’re scared to give birth, so i decided to get you the second best option. you’ve been obsessing over getting a dog so this works just as well.” you opened the cage, the puppy barking excitedly and jumping into your arms.
you looked at your husband, teary eyed.
“i love you.” you mumbled, emotional.
he only smiled, bending down a bit to kiss the top of your head.
“i love you more, beautiful.”
✶⋆.˚ RYOMEN SUKUNA
you groaned as sukuna massaged your shoulders and neck.
you were still confused as to why he was so passive today, but you didn’t complain.
“woman, i’ve been thinking.” you hummed. his movements slowed. “yeah kuna?”
“you’re my wife.” you slowly nodded, trying to see where this’ll go.
“i need a child.”
if you had a drink in your mouth, you would’ve spit it out.
“WHAT?”
“we’re making one tonight.”
the silence was thick, but judging how he didn’t say anything more, he was dead serious.
“kuna.. i would love to but.. i only every had one of your cocks. can i try both then?” his cheeks flushed, a cough coming from his throat.
“yeah, sure woman. make sure not just cry as much tonight then.” you nodded, stomach full of butterflies. he was direct, demanding. but he was softer today, was there a reason? wait..
“are you only saying this because it’s mother’s day?” he stopped massaging you, moving over to stand in front of you. he kneeled down in front of you, kissing your thigh.
“not just because. for some reason, i’ve been tempted to put a little shit in your tummy for days.” you smiled down at him, hand going in his hair and carding through his locks.
“wording it like that makes me feel weird.. but since it’s the same message, that’s alright.” you laughed softly, his hand coming up and cupping your cheek before he stood back up and kissed your lips.
“you’ll be the perfect wife.” he whispers.
“happy mother’s day, woman.” and you giggle.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL MAMAS OUT THERE!!! 🗣️🗣️🫶
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#nanami fluff#nanami x y/n#jujutsu kento#jjk kento#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jjk toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#fushiguro toji x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru#jjk suguru#jujutsu suguru#jujutsu kaisen suguru#gojou satoru smut#jjk satoru#satoru gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru x you#ryomen sukuna#jjk ryomen#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#ryomen x reader#jujutsu ryomen#sukuna ryomen#ryomen x you
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First Kiss
Stepsister!Wanda x Reader (Teen AU)
High school. It’s rough for you. On the downside, you have to deal with grades, social circles and the constant reminder of the crushing loneliness that first love creates. But on the bright side, you got an amazing stepdad Django Maximoff, and a cute and quirky stepsister Wanda Maximoff.
It was just after home room. You were feeling happy as could be. Your plan was to ask out Carol Danvers, Captain of the school’s volleyball team. You had practiced in the mirror and even asked Django for advice. He was more than happy to oblige.
You walked to your second period class with a pep in your step. You sat next to her and you seemed to have a good vibe between you and her. And then you turned the corner and stopped dead in your tracks.
Carol was standing there she was kissing James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes and then she turned and kissed Valkyrie.
“Bye babes” she said with a wink. Your heart shattered. Luckily she didn’t notice you. Or maybe it was unlucky. You didn’t know. Your head was spinning.
“Y/N!” Wanda called out to you with a smile. She didn’t quite grasp what was wrong with you. She gave you a gentle shake. “You okay?”
“I-I don’t know” you just walked into class and sat down wordlessly next to Carol. And for the first time, you didn’t care.
The rest of the school day was a blur. You went from school to your own bedroom in an almost zombie like state. You felt absolutely alone and helpless. Your high school crush had a girlfriend…and a boyfriend.
You just curled up on your bed and just buried your head in your pillow in sheer embarrassment. You felt as embarrassed as the numerous times that you found yourself staring just a little too long at your step sister. In truth, Wanda was the one you truly loved.
Her kindness, her humor, her beauty, everything about her drove you crazy with love. But she was your step sister. You had hoped that if you focused on another girl your age, maybe you’d somehow focus your affections on her rather than Wanda.
But even that didn’t work because the only other girl you liked was part of a throuple.
You just buried your head in your pillow and grunted in embarrassment. And then came a soft knock at your door.
“Go away” you mumbled. “Nursing a broken heart in here”
“You sound like a dying moose” Wanda spoke up from behind the door. You couldn’t help but smile.
Wanda entered a second later with a cup of tea for you. “You okay, Y/N?”
“I don’t know if you saw it but Carol…she’s uhh…”
“I saw that…” Wanda huffed, “she can’t really make up her mind. Just pick one and be faithful”
“I’m never gonna find love” you mumbled before taking a sip.
“I’m sure Pietro would tell you the same.” She giggled.
“How’s your mom and Pietro doing?” You inquired.
“Malibu’s fine for them. I miss my bratok tho” she sighed. “But I know Pietro would love hanging out with you.”
“Life’s weird, Wanda.” You stated Esther pitifully. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet”
“Neither have I” she smirked, “although few have tried. No one can conquer the witch!”
Wanda throws her hands in the air and faked conjuring up some kind of magic. You couldn’t help but laugh. And then she laughed along with you. It just felt right being there with her.
You stared at her. She stared at you. A small blush made its way across her face.
“Y-you know,” she gently moved a stray strand of hair away from her face, “what if we…oh forget it”
“What?”
“What if we were..each other’s first kiss?” She found herself trying to hide her embarrassed face.
“Really?” You asked.
“Y-yeah. I want my first kiss to be with someone I trust. And I trust you” she explained.
“O-okay” you managed to say. Your heart was beating out of your chest.
The two of you just looked at each other for a split second before you broke the silence, “do you want me to lean in or-?”
“I-I’ll lean in” Wanda chimed in. She let out a nervous giggle before she leaned in.
You found yourself leaning in and then it happened. Your lips touched hers. So soft. So tender. The faint scent of strawberries permeated her skin. You could feel a sense of warmth and love take over your entire body.
Wanda pulled back. How you just wanted to take a hold of her and kiss her again. You could kiss her countless times and you sweared it would never be enough.
“That was…” she blushed, “wow”
“Y-yeah” you giggled. “T-thank you”
“What are step siblings for?” She smiled and turned to leave. “I’ll see you for dinner”
And with that she turned and left. You collapsed against your bed in an absolute state of bliss.
Years later your now wife Wanda told you that she did the exact same thing too.
Tags: @lifespectator @ma1egamer @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @konstantin609 @revanshand @russianredassassin @scarletquake-n7 @supercorpdanbeau @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @jacenradio7
#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel fluff#mcu#mcu imagine#mcu fandom#marvel incorrect quotes#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff imagine#step sister#step siblings#stepsister Wanda#scarlet witch#high school#high school au
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Gun for hire (1)
Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader
Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd, being followed, sunshine reader
Gun for hire (Prologue)
Gun for hire masterlist
Lloyd curses himself once again.
He still didn’t get his money. His newest client is an annoying piece of shit. And on top of the pile of shit, this assignment turned into, the exotic beard wax he wanted to order was sold out.
In other words. Lloyd Hansen is fucking livid.
This doesn’t keep him from following his latest target around town.
So far you went to work, bought a muffin on your way to the library, and talked to the librarian for half an hour.
Lloyd yawns, bored beyond belief. He never followed such a boring person. Most of the people he killed were criminals, or at least interesting. You’re just…too nice.
You made it your mission to visit the elderly librarian every day after work to make sure she gets her extra portion of sugar – hence the muffin you bought. Plus, you try to make her feel needed by asking questions about books you already read.
He’s close to calling it a day when a man walks past you and the librarian. The man bumps into your side and has the guts to yell at you.
Lloyd pokes his head around the shelf he is hiding behind to watch you smile at the man. He can’t believe that you smile at a man yelling at you not moments ago.
“Crazy,” he concludes but decides to watch you for a little longer. Assignment or not, he’s got nothing better to do today.
“Sir,” you carefully pat the man’s arm while you speak to him in a low, but soft tone. “Your day must have been hard.” You batt your eyelashes, and smile again. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so rude, right?”
The man suddenly smiles and apologizes repeatedly. The man’s whole demeanor changed so suddenly Lloyd could not believe his eyes.
“Drugs maybe…or a hidden gun?” Lloyd wonders. No man ever changed their opinion so fast without being under the influence of drugs, or in danger. “That woman must be the devil in disguise or something. She must be more dangerous than I first thought.”
“Come on, do something more exciting,” Lloyd grunts as your daily routine drives him up the walls. He looks at his notes again and sighs deeply.
He rereads his notes and tries to find new information.
“Work. Buying something sweet for Grace, the elderly librarian. Talking to said librarian for half an hour. Going home. Watching TV.”
This is not how imagined his Friday night would look like. He wanted to spend it at his favorite strip club, a pretty girl’s mouth wrapped around his dick.
“She’s so…” he rubs his tired eyes, “boring. I can’t believe someone wants to kill her.” Lloyd ignores the kink in his neck and his burning eyes, or the fact that he’s watching you giggle at something your elderly neighbor said. “I hate her so much.”
He could just end your life or call it a day, but he keeps on watching you smile and giggle. “She’s a fucking ray of sunshine. What the fuck!”
Lloyd shakes his head. Today someone spilled coffee all over your pretty sundress. Your boss yelled at you. And you lost your phone.
Nothing seems to ruin your mood. You are still laughing and joking with your neighbor.
“I should just go over there and kill them both. Less headache for me – a house and a car for my client,” Lloyd is tempted to get his gun and silencer out to shoot you and your neighbor. “Maybe later. I need to unlock her phone first…”
Lloyd rolls his eyes while scrolling through your phone. There are mostly pictures of bees, flowers, and cake on your phone. No interesting or naughty stuff.
“This woman can’t be real. She buys sweets for the librarian; cooks soup for her sick neighbor and has a fucking insect hotel on her veranda. She’s crazy…this must be it.”
He nods to himself. “I need to find out more about her. Maybe some files are password-protected. I know she’s hiding shit from me.”
“Boss, it’s two weeks,” one of Lloyd’s men dares to say. “He didn’t pay.” The man clears his throat. “The woman is still alive too. What is your plan?”
“I need to find out more about her,” Lloyd grunts. He doesn’t need one of his bootlickers to sniff around and find out Lloyd is following you because he’s fascinated and a little grossed out by your bubbly personality.
Your friendliness is hard to stomach, and he wants to find at least one thing you try to hide before he kills you.
“Boss, he didn’t pay,” the man insists. “We don’t work for free. That’s rule number—” A gunshot ends the man’s life.
“Rule number four is to never doubt me and my decisions,” Lloyd sneers at the dead man on the ground. He snaps his fingers at one of the others. “Clean this up. I got a job to do.”
“Boss…” the man nods and goes to work.
“And bring me her boyfriend. He broke our contract and didn’t pay me a single buck. I want to know why he believes he can fuck with Lloyd fucking Hansen.”
“What are you doing at my house?” You take a step back. A stranger is standing in your living room, a gun with a silencer aimed at your head. “Oh…Tommie.” You shake your head and sigh. “He’s such an unhappy man.”
Lloyd cocks a brow at your reaction. You don’t scream or beg. Instead, you are concerned about your ex-boyfriend.
“He doesn’t have the money to pay me back for the house and car,” you conclude and nod to yourself. “But he has the money to pay you?”
You take a step toward Lloyd, taking him by surprise. He backpaddles and aims his gun back at you.
“You don’t look like a guy he found on the street and paid him twenty bucks. You look like a…” You tilt your head to look the man in front of you up and down, “professional.”
“Sorry, but you got to go…” He murmurs, wondering a little about his words. It’s the first time he said more to a target than hello and goodbye.
“Uh-okay,” you wring your hands. “I just ordered takeout. Can I eat it before you kill me?” You cock a brow. “You know, the whole last meal thing and stuff. I got dessert too. Please don’t let me die hungry.”
Lloyd is stunned. No target ever accepted their fate without fighting back. Most of them at least begged and pleaded or offered more money.
“You can have some dessert too,” you softly say. “I guess in your line of business you don’t often get invited.” You giggle. “You know, because you kill all of your clients.”
“I don’t kill my clients,” he sighs. “Fine, have your last meal. You are giving me a fucking headache, sunshine.”
“Aw, that’s a cute nickname,” you point out. “Do you call your girlfriend that too?” You ask while walking past Lloyd. “I’m going to eat now. Please don’t shoot me before I finish my meal.”
“Just shut up,” he grunts and follows you inside the kitchen. “Why are you not screaming or throwing a tantrum?”
You shrug. “We all must die one day. Right?” Watching Lloyd, you smile. “Please don’t shoot me in the face. Someone must identify me, and I don’t want them to see me like that.”
“You always think about others first.”
He watches you prepare two plates of food. You watch him watching you. He cocks a brow, believing you will try to trick him. “It’s not poisoned. I’ll eat it too.”
“Do you want to sort things out first?”
“I got everything sorted out,” you smile. “I’m just worried about my neighbor and the stray cat I feed. They are both old and need help.”
Lloyd shakes his head. “You must be crazy thinking about others while a stranger threatens to kill you.”
“I thought you wanted to kill me, not just threaten me,” you round the counter to place a plate close to him. “I didn’t take you for someone making empty promises.” You run your fingertips over the hand holding the gun and smile. “Right. Mr.…?”
“Lloyd,” he says and drops his eyes to your finger running over his hand. “Are you flirting with me?”
You look him straight in the eyes and smile. “Why would I flirt with my executioner?”
Gun for hire (2)
Tags in reblog.
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Can u do, like, Lando’s diary, maybe?
Warnings: Swearing, Stalker!Lando, pretending to be someone else.
Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader
A/N - A few or Lando’s diary entries
A/N2 - I write my dates in the British format or DD/MM/YYYY not MM/DD/YYYY
01/05/2024
Dear Fucking Diary,
I dunno why I decided to write a flipping diary, but I guess I am. Well. Check on my day, I guess? Did shitty media, met some fans. Nothing big. Nothing unusual. Fuck it.
02/05/2024
Dear Fucking Diary,
Sooooooooooooooooooooooo, things have changed up a bit. I was in the garage and I saw this really, really pretty girl angel and oh my god, I swear, love at first sight. Seriously, she’s gorgeous. I can’t get over her. So I asked Oscar and decided to put up with the few minutes of teasing, because man, I couldn’t not know who she was, ya know? Fill in tomorrow
03/05/2023
Dear Fucking Diary,
Her names Y/N. I’m not a stalker, I swear, but I couldn’t, like, not find all her socials and stuff. They’re on private though. Fucks sake. So, I made the very very deep decision to make another instagram account and follow her. Maybe I’d get her interested. So I sent her a DM. Acting as if I had the wrong Y/N. Though god, I wish I knew other people called Y/N. Her name’s gorgeous. Got practise now. Write tomorrow.
04/05/2024
Dear Fucking Diary,
She accepted my follow request. We talked for a bit. She thinks my name’s Oscar. Sorry to actual Oscar. But god, she’s so pretty. We called for a bit, surprised she didn’t recognise my voice. Well, we didn’t work close enough to do so anyways. She worked on Oscar’s side of the garage. She was so clueless, it felt like a game. Not in a good way, how would I ever come clean?
05/05/2023
Dear Fucking Diary,
She’s pretty. She hasn’t blocked me, I’m surprised, but I flicked through her socials. She’s so pretty, oh my god. I told Oscar. He told me to come clean. But how? What if she thought I was a freak or a stalker? I mean, I technically was. But like, what if she exposed me and ruined my whole career? Forget that, what if I lost her? I can’t.
06/05/2024
Dear Fucking Diary,
Hi lando, you left your diary in Oscar’s driver room. Fucking stalker.
13/05/2024
Dear Fucking Diary,
You read what she wrote, I’m fucked. She hasn’t turned up to work for a week. I’m scared. She’s blocked me on everything, I shouldn’t have done what I did. I asked Zak about her, he doesn’t know. I don’t want her to leave, I can’t stand the thought of her with someone else. Fuck this diary. It’s a curse.
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Prompt 11 - Fake Date
@wolfstarmicrofic May 11, word count 875
“Eugh, my mum keeps asking who I’m bringing to my cousin's wedding!” Remus groaned as he checked the new message on his phone. “She’s getting worse. Ever since Oscar and I broke up it’s all she cares about.” He shook his head and put on a high-pitched voice, imitating Hope. “Reemuss,” He elongated his name like Hope did with her lilting accent. “Remus, why don’t you have a nice boy to bring to Gwen’s wedding? You should go find yourself someone, Remus.” He grimaced. “Like it’s so easy. She met dad in the middle of a forest when that guy jumped out of the trees at her and dad came to her rescue. Knowing my luck, the would be murderer would fall for me.” He leaned his head back and cursed the heavens.
Sirius had sat there patiently listening to Remus grouse. He snatched Remus’s phone from his lap and typed a quick message to Hope.
“There,” He said. “Now you have a date.” He grinned mischievously. Remus paled.
“What did you do?” He picked up his phone and gasped. “Sirius! What the actual?!” His phone pinged as Hope started gushing about how happy she was and how much she’d always loved Sirius. He had to put his phone on silent to shut it up. Sirius had messaged Hope telling her that he was bringing Sirius as his date. Sirius who he’d had a crush on for years and told his mother every little thing about it. Oh gods, this was going to be a disaster.
“It’ll be fine, Remus. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend for the day, and then we’ll mysteriously break up, none of them will be the wiser, and it'll make your mum happy.” Remus groaned into his hands.
They travelled to Wales the day before the wedding and stayed at Remus’s parents house. Lyall greeted them at the door but then disappeared into his study. He was happy in there and Remus was happy he was in there, to be honest. They’d never quite seemed to quite understand each other and this way was easier, much to Hope’s annoyance.
Hope, on the other hand, wrapped them both in her arms and cooed over Sirius.
“I knew you’d end up together. You’re perfect for each other.” Sirius lapped it up. The only problem they had was Hope put them in Remus’s old bedroom. They hadn’t thought of that when they’d agreed to stay there. There wasn’t even another spare room.
“It’ll be fun,” Sirius beamed. “Like being back at school.”
“We never shared a bed. That was you and James,” Remus reminded him.
“Well, better late than never then, I guess,” Sirius responded. So that was how Remus found himself in bed with Sirius.
Thankfully, morning came quickly and then it was time for the wedding.
Everybody made a fuss about Sirius.
“He’s so handsome Remus,” His grandmother had declared when he’d introduced him. “You ought to put a ring on his finger, so he doesn’t get away,” She’d said loudly. Remus went beet red.
“Nain, you can’t just yell that out!” He hushed her.
“And why not? I want to see some great grand kids before I pop my clogs, and you aren’t getting any younger,”
“Oh my god,” He didn’t know how to handle her apart from with a gin and tonic and the bar wasn’t open yet.
“Don’t you worry, Mrs Howell, I’ll make an honest man out of him.” Sirius said, linking her arm with his and leading her away to her table. He turned and winked at Remus. Remus wished he could turn invisible.
By the end of the wedding, Sirius had won over all of Remus’s family and all of the grooms. In fact, more people knew who Sirius was at the wedding than knew who Remus was.
Remus was glad when they were on their way back to his parents house. It had been a long day. “So,” Sirius asked him. “When are you going to pop the question? Your Nain’s promised me her engagement ring.” He grinned, fighting back a laugh at Remus.
“Oh, haha, Sirius,” Remus rolled his eyes and said no more about the subject.
That night, much to Remus’s surprise, Sirius snuggled under his arm and rested his head on Remus’s chest.
“I had fun today.” Sirius told him with a sleepy voice. “Your family is really nice, and I might just steal your Nain. She was brilliant.” He turned his head to look at Remus. “Thank you for letting me come.” He said quietly.
“You invited yourself. I had nothing to do with it.” Remus huffed.
He closed his eyes hoping Sirius would take the hint. But instead, Sirius pushed up and kissed him. Remus’s eyes shot open, and he stared at Sirius.
“I was serious about that ring, Moony. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.” Remus didn’t know what to say, so he dragged Sirius’s face back to his and kissed him deeper than their first. He melted as Sirius kissed him back. “Took you long enough,” Sirius murmured against his lips. Remus had never been happier. He made a note to send a bottle of champagne to his cousin, because without her this might never have happened.
#wolfstar#wolfstar microfic#wolfstar fic#wolfstar au#wolfstar angst#wolfstar fluff#remus lupin#sirius black#remus john lupin#sirius orion black#hope lupin#lyall lupin#hope lupins mother#nain Howell#wedding#why wont my mum let me be#sirius x remus#remus x sirius#sirius and remus#remus and sirius#oh you like me two#didn't see that coming#fake date
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Fortnight
pairing: Lando Norris x Reader
summary: you were never cut out to be a WAG
masterlist ttpd masterlist
_______
“Oh my god, we need to get you help,” your best friend, Logan, gasps, walking in on you, three beers deep. You are sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Lando’s too when he’s actually home, the curtains closed, dirty clothes scattered on the floor. What he doesn’t know is that this is your normal.
“I’m fine,” you don’t even slur. Your phone is discarded to the side, beside the latest apology flowers given -shipped- to you by your supposedly loving boyfriend. You haven’t picked up his last couple calls, so he sent your friend to check in.
“Come on, get up and shower while I clean all this, and you call Lando after,” Logan sighs, pulling you off the floor as you finish the beer.
You begrudgingly walk to the bathroom, your friend setting out a fresh change of clothes. “Just, don’t tell Lando. He’s stressed enough,” you tell him, closing the door once you get a confirmation.
Twenty minutes later, you are sitting on the edge of the sink, phone ringing.
“Babe, are you okay, you haven’t been answering?” Lando asks, his worried voice makes a pit in your stomach.
“Lan, I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all. Sorry for worrying you. Are you okay?” despite him being the reason the reason for your recent state, you don’t want him to be hurt.
You miss breaks, when he would be with you all the time, now it seems like you only see each other in passing, like good neighbors who make that corny comment about the weather.
Lando finds you in a similar position as your friend did, except this time you are crying on the floor, not drunk. He got a couple free days off and is eager to spend them with you.
“Darling, what happened?” he kneels down beside you, his voice making you cry harder. “Baby,” his voice and heart breaks as you look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks.
“I-,” you gas for air. “I love you, Lando. It’s ruining my life,” each sob breaks his heart.
“No, no. Don’t say that,” he pleads, wiping the tears from your eyes.
“Do you know the longest amount of time we’ve spent together? 14 days, a fortnight. I can’t keep doing this. The apology gifts for missed moments, the quick phone calls that are hardly passable for time spent together,” you pause to catch your breath, the tears still flowing. “I can’t do this, Lando. I miss home, I miss America,” your eyes meet his, both of you broken.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were struggling this much,” he whispers, sitting down and pulling you into him.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” you look away, the feeling of him foreign.
“I’m off the next couple days, let’s work on us,”
“Lando-,”
“And I’ll bring you to more races even though I know you find it hard to get off of work,”
“Lando-,”
“Please don’t say it,” he whispers, kissing you. Another foreign feeling.
“I’m moving back to America, tomorrow,” you tell him, feeling like you’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Lando looks around the bedroom, realizing the only thing of yours left was your packed suitcase in the corner.
“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, your eyes not able to meet his.
“I was going to visit you in Woking tonight,” the silence that falls between you is deafening. You spend the night in separate rooms, and in the morning he insists on driving you to the airport. He gets out of the car, pulling your suitcase out for you.
“Please don’t go,” he asks one last time, the both of you crying.
“I have to, Lando. It’s what’s best for both of us,” you step closer to him.
“Winter break is almost here, please, just a little longer. This isn’t what’s best for me,” Lando says, pulling you into a tight hug.
“I love you, Lan, but you deserve someone who can be with you at each race and support you more than I can,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“You are always enough for me, I love you,” he cries.
“Please, Lan, I have to put myself first,” you grab your luggage handle and take a step back.
“I won’t block your number, if you ever need anything or are in London, call me, I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,” Lando says, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the sun. His offer is a complete change to how your relationship was.
“Goodbye, Lando,” you turn around, walking into the airport. You hand covers your mouth as you sob, refusing to turn back and look at an equally distressed Lando.
You refuse to check social media, only texting your family and Logan when you land in Miami. You knew Logan from karting before you quit, and he became your closest friend. He offered his apartment in Miami to you until you buy your own.
You quickly got a job and moved to Destin, a whole 9 hours away from Miami, 11 from Austin. Florida is treating you a lot nicer, but you feel stuck in an endless February. You took the magic move on pill that is relocating, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You changed your phone number when you got back to the US, and deleted your social media apps. Lando tried calling you and DM-ing you, but never got a reply.
“I will fly you down, please just come and support me. I need you at my home race,” Logan begs, wanting you to take a two week vacation to spend time with him in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Something deep inside you agreed, so you pack your bags and hit the road, electing to drive.
You arrive the Wednesday before race week, and stay until the Wednesday after race week. It is nice because you can visit your own family too.
“I got you a paddock pass,” Logan says as you both lay on the beach the day you got in.
“Lo, I can’t go back there,” you turn your head to look at him.
“You can stay in Williams, you don’t have to go visit Oscar when I do,” Logan says, referencing the Australian who is also staying with Logan. Oscar promised he wouldn’t tell Lando you were in town.
“You know, I can get you a much nicer car than your Mercedes,” Oscar says, sitting beside you. Logan gets up to grab two waters.
“A McLaren? Not my thing, I hated driving,” you can’t even bring yourself to say his name. “Yeah, but I do love my car, I always wanted it,” you say.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Oscar leans over, bumping you with his shoulder.
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. It’s still hard. Sometimes I think about calling him, but he won’t pick up. I have a new number and he has a new girl from what Logan said,” you admit.
“He’s miserable, he will never admit it, but he is. He hasn’t been the same since you left, but you seem to be doing a lot better. You have color back in your skin and you aren’t drinking all the time,” Oscar says, knowing what state you were in when Lando called Logan to check in on you. You were a functioning alcoholic, barely functioning at that point.
“Yeah, this was the right decision. Maybe it’s best if I don’t call Lando. Even if he is miserable, it might make things worse. I can’t get back together with him, but I want him to be okay,” you tell Oscar. What you don’t know is that Lando is renting the beach house beside the one you, Logan, and Oscar are staying in for the two weeks. He is jealous about how happy you seem with his teammate and your best friend.
You figure it out when you take a midnight walk, clad in a sweater with your university’s logo on it.
“Lando, hi,” you breathe, taking him in.
“Hey, you look really good. I like the sweater,” he shifts his weight in the sand. You look healthier, happier, and it kills him.
“I, um, changed my phone number and deleted my social media apps,” you say, answering the question he didn’t want to ask.
“I tried dating again, but I broke it off, I couldn’t do it,”
“Sorry, I should’ve thought about how I would hurt you,” you say, looking at your feet in the sand.
“No, you needed to do it. I don’t blame you, I was basically abandoning you,” Lando says, silently inviting you to join him on the walk. It becomes a habit, you join him every night.
“Congrats on the win,” you hug him on night 11. It was a silent agreement that you would go your separate ways again after the two weeks.
“Where are you living now?” Lando asks on night 14, both of you sitting in the sand between the two houses.
“Destin, Florida. I bought an apartment that used to be a timeshare,” you say, watching the waves.
“That’s pretty close, right?”
“Nine hours, Lan. other side of the state,” you smile, trying not to laugh. Lando’s heart flutters at the way you say his nickname, but squashes it.
“Oh, well I’m glad you were able to come down and support Logan,” he says, yawning a little.
“Alright, I have to wake up early to drive home,” you stand up, brushing the sand off of your legs.
“Drive safe,” Lando hugs you, finally feeling healed.
“Goodbye, Lan,” you whisper.
“Goodbye,” he whispers back, capturing the look of you in his mind.
#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris imagines#logan sargeant#oscar piastri
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不老梦 (unaging dream)
// Yandere Dan Heng
sum: “How many meetings receive their worthy ends?”
wc: 3379
warnings: idk OOC dan heng ig 😢 and fem! reader
a/n: this was a shower idea ngl and also i yapped too much someone stop me
also inspired by the song 不老梦 (and some influence of 锦鲤抄 (no one ask me how many times i’ve played this song)) by 银临! i highly suggest giving both a listen (≧∇≦)
likes and reblogs appreciated :)
Dan Feng adored you.
Dan Heng knows that much. He knows that Dan Feng’s first and last thoughts were about you, pondering your whereabouts, your health, and a longing to see you once more. He knows that Dan Feng would, without fail, set aside time solely for you. No matter how busy his schedule was, he always had time for you. If Dan Feng knew love, it was because he knew you.
Dan Heng doesn’t understand why.
He knows that you’re a long-life species like Jing Yuan, that you’re someone who has accompanied every reincarnation of his ever since you had met them for the first time. He vaguely remembers that the rest of them had not felt anything more than platonic affection for you, but Dan Feng, the singular oddity, harbored far more romantic affections. Dan Heng, on the other hand, feels nothing.
Or so he thinks, until he is forced to revisit the Xianzhou Luofu.
It’s at Scalegorge Waterscape that he sees and meets you for the first time. You accompany Jing Yuan as he arrives, and your eyes immediately lock on to him. He sees them widen, and your lips whisper the name of his predecessor. Although almost silent, he hears your voice, and something in him tells him that it’s the most beautiful sound in the universe.
(He makes no move to deny.)
Your meeting is brief, no more than a sentence exchanged. You dip your head in respect, and nothing more than a simple greeting is said. He merely nods in acknowledgment, and yet while he has never learned it, he yearns to call your name.
You dutifully follow Jing Yuan as the group goes deeper into Scalegorge Waterscape, and Dan Heng can’t help but glance at you. He wonders if you know his name, and not that of his predecessors; he is not, and never will be, Dan Feng.
He thinks it’s odd that you don’t try to speak to him. From Dan Feng’s memories, he sees that you were both very close, perhaps even lovers at some point. Your wide smiles and sweet laughter are all etched into his brain, and he desires nothing more than to hear and see them for himself. He hopes you’ll give him the pleasure of smiling once more.
During the battle with Phantylia, he feels fear in his heart. He is concerned for the Express, concerned for Jing Yuan, and concerned for you. Was there really a need for you to be there, with everyone at the frontlines? Surely their group was enough already? Why didn’t Jing Yuan leave you behind or make you go back with Yanqing?
Plagued by his worries, he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as much as the battle allows. You stood at the very back, likely providing support and aid for your comrades in the front. Seeing you like this sparks another remembrance, of the days you’d delicately put ointment on Dan Feng’s bruises or gently tend to his wounds, all while chastising him about being more careful with himself.
It’s after the battle with Phantylia that he manages to find the courage to speak to you. He feels like a child with the way shyness has overtaken him, and he catches sight of Jing Yuan, although injured, seemingly enjoying his fluster.
“It’s… it’s been a long time.” He cringes at his first words.
“So it has, Imbibitor Lunae.” Your voice, a symphony of the galaxy’s most captivating sounds, enchants him further, and although not usually one to blush, he feels heat rising to his cheeks.
“Dan Heng. My name is Dan Heng.” He can’t help but correct. He has been relinquished of that name, of the sins that it bears. He is not Imbibitor Lunae, he is merely the Astral Express’ Dan Heng. “I… am no longer Imbibitor Lunae.”
“…Dan Heng, then.” Is it foolish to be happy at how one says your name? “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I…” Dan Heng doesn’t quite know what to say. He wants to speak to you, to hear you for the rest of time, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to speak to you without the possibility of widening the rift already between you two, undoubtedly the fault of a certain Vidyadhara High Elder.
“If there is nothing more to say, then I shall be on my way. I wish you and your crewmates safe travels.” You say simply and easily, like you don’t hold his heart. You say it like he’s a stranger, and not even your eyes are willing to show a hint of familiarity. What heinous crime did Dan Feng do to you that even to this day, you’re unwilling to forgive?
“I’d like to know what happened between you and… my predecessor.” The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, like he’s saying the name of the competitor for your love. Your eyes widen in shock, and you look at him as if he had just asked to return to the Luofu permanently. He is acutely aware of the absurdity of the situation, that he looks exactly the same as the sinner that undoubtedly did something to you, that this same face is acting as if he hadn’t done anything to you. The real irony was in asking for the list of crimes.
“…There’s nothing more to be said, other than that he betrayed Xianzhou.” You don’t offer him the kindness of an explanation, and he thinks the way you can’t bear to even meet his eyes says all he needs to know about your feelings. Dan Feng had hurt you so greatly, that years later your heart is still hurting.
Dan Heng desires nothing more than to understand you the same way all his predecessors did, for an intimate connection the rest of them had, but he knows that for as long as he resembles him, you’ll never offer him that opportunity. And so, he makes a request.
He makes a request to meet with Jing Yuan privately. Said man is now your boss, and if you had told anyone about your connection to the traitor, it would be Jing Yuan, the only one who would welcome you with no judgment, only understanding.
“It was quite the surprise to learn of your request, Dan Heng.” The white haired man sits on his seat, a calm expression on his face. The Seat of Divine Foresight is devoid of people, the space cleared for this meeting. The General seems to have recognised some urgency in the request, or perhaps it is because he is a reincarnation of his old friend. You are also nowhere to be found.
“Thank you for accepting my request, Jing Yuan.” Dan Heng is stiff in his reply.
“There’s no need to be formal, you did help save the Luofu after all. Consider it part of a repayment for your predecessor’s crimes.” A bird comfortably nestles itself into the nest of his hair, and he makes no move to rid it. “Your request mentioned something about (Y/n). I imagine that it has something to do with Dan Feng’s past with her?”
“Yes. I tried to ask her, but she refused to give me anything more than the vague answer of his betrayal.” The black haired man’s hands clenches on his knee, looking straight at Jing Yuan as if his life depended on the answer. “Please, Jing Yuan, I need to know.”
I need to know how I can fix his mistakes.
“I must apologize, for I can’t exactly help much either. As far as I know, she has mostly kept to herself. Back when everything had yet to go awry, while the five of us were close, only Dan Feng was close to her.” Jing Yuan replied, mindlessly staring at a stack of paper on his desk. “I only came to really know her after what he did, when she was seeking a change of jobs and came across a position as my assistant. From what little I can recall of the past, I can only confidently tell you that she, at the very least, held strong affections for him, even when he broke his promises or left her alone.”
Dan Feng… broke his promises to you? Dan Feng… left you alone?
“This seems like quite the news for you.” Jing Yuan chuckles at the dumbfounded expression on his face. “Perhaps I can help with sorting through some memories?”
“Everything I can remember from him is nothing more than sweet memories and strong yearnings to see her again. It… I cannot remember anything of that sort.” Dan Heng is frankly horrified and beyond furious. He just couldn’t wrap the idea that Dan Feng didn’t prioritize you the same way his memories and dreams had shown him, that he would willingly break promises to his supposed lover so often that you gave up.
“Oh? That’s interesting. Is it possible that during the reincarnation process, all of his negative memories of hurting her had somehow disappeared, only leaving behind the ones he cherished most?”
“That would seem to be the case.” Dan Heng has a new determination. He knows what he must do. Standing from the seat, he bows politely at Jing Yuan. “I know what I must do. Thank you for the valuable information, Jing Yuan.”
“No thanks needed.” The General waves him off, seeing the body of his old friend disappear behind the doors. With a bitter smile, he silently mourns bygone days, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in his old heart.
~~~
You’re a little afraid to go to work now.
With the knowledge that your ex-lover’s reincarnation who happens to look exactly like him is still roaming about in the Luofu, you kind of don’t want to step out of your house for fear of running into him. You had desperately hoped that, by some miracle, he couldn’t recognise you, or even better, completely forgotten all about you. Alas, the will of the Aeons will always be like a child’s, fickle and ever-changing, never leaving a second thought for their toys.
The weekend has you hiding in your house, praying to Lan that the Express has departed, allowing you to be free from the reminder of the dream you once cherished with the one you loved. The dream that was once so beautiful, so precious, was now tainted with the stains of yesteryear, never again to be dreamed of by any of its dreamers.
You’re settled on the couch, reading a collection of poetry when there is a knock at your door. Never one to keep guests waiting, you immediately jumped out of your seat to rush to the door, forgetting the crucial reminder to check the knocker. It is this one fatal mistake that seals your fate forevermore.
“(Y/n).” His voice is the same as you remember, reverent, loving (as if you meant the world). He looks the same, the blue horns atop his head that he would only allow you to touch, the teal eyes that could always read you as if you were an open book, the long, black hair you loved to braid. You used to lay on his lap, one of his hands holding yours, the other caressing your cheek with a gentleness reserved for delicate flowers, lulling you to your shared dream.
Your name from his lips sounds so right, yet, yet, like the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden, a tempting yet unpardonable sin. Your name sounds as though it was specifically intended for his lips alone, but the taint of the past sours the feeling. He’s a traitor to the Xianzhou, he is exiled. He… is dead to you.
But… Why is it that you yearn for him? Why is it that your body longs to be in his embrace once more, that your heart desires to beat in sync with his?
“I love you.” This dream, cruel and twisted and evil in all its forms, has you weak. You can’t see straight, and the world is turning into a blur. How could he say that, while he looks like him? How dare he? Has Aha taken the form of your regret, and decided to make you THEIR victim?
You don’t realize the tears running down your face until he, holding your face with both hands, much like a lover would, wipes them away.
“Please don’t cry. I don’t like seeing you sad.” The sunlight shines upon him angelically, a frown marring his face. His eyes are panicked, unsure of what to do. He, so similar yet so different, knows not what a lover should do.
The panic in his eyes morphs to confusion when you weakly push his hands away, trying your hardest to compose yourself in front of him. He is not the same person you once knew, and he deserves freedom.
Wiping the last of your tears away, you invite him into your home. He is visibly shocked, accepting your invitation without hesitation, following you to the couch. You offer him a drink, tea, but he refuses.
“I learned some things from Jing Yuan.” He starts, quietly. He looks at you, and there is a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Please, I need to know what he did, the promises he broke, the sins he committed. I… need to make things right.”
“You do not need to repent for the sins of your predecessor. A child does not bear the responsibility of righting the wrongs of their parents; you do not bear the responsibilities of righting his wrongs.” You speak to him firmly, a sudden strength in your voice. “Please, Dan Heng, be free from me; be free from the Luofu.”
“But I love-”
“You do not love me.” An anger flashes in his eyes briefly, and had you blinked you would have missed it. The anger, ever so brief, on his face is the same as you remember. “You love what your predecessor loved about me. All your memories of me are his, and you are not him. You have the chance to love freely, to meet all kinds of people from all walks of life - I am but a speck of dust in the tempest of your life. Soon I will be nothing but a memory, perhaps bittersweet, and you will find something, someone, that you’ll love.”
You hope, desperately, that he understands. He says he is not Imbibitor Lunae, that he is not Dan Feng; then severing your ties with him would be the final nail in the coffin, the true death of the High Elder of the Vidyadhara, and the birth of Dan Heng, a member of the Astral Express who freely travels the galaxy with his companions.
“…I don’t want it.” Now it is your turn to be shocked. Has he lost his mind?
“Dan Heng, I have tried to be kind considering your situation. However, you seem to not be understanding.” Your reprimand is immediate, tumbling out of your mouth as if they were prepared beforehand.
“And I don’t want it. I need you, don’t you understand? Even… even if I deny him, he, and the ones before him, will always have a hold on me. The hold is you. We can’t live without you, none of us have. Don’t you know? As pointless as it may be, Vidyadharas mate for life; leaving without you would be akin to condemning myself to an eternity of heartbreak and misery.” He pleads, even taking your hands in his. “Even if my love for you is, thus far, only brought upon by his memories, it is fate, destiny, that I will fall in love with you again and again and again.”
Your heart hurts all over again, and you make no move to reply. Your head hangs, your eyes staring at your lap, at your intertwined hands. Gently, delicately, he brings your hand to his heart, and it beats in tandem with yours.
“Remember the vows he swore to you at that festival, many years ago?” He, Dan Heng, you must remind yourself, moves you to his lap, and you’re reminded of the many times you’ve shared this position with his lookalike. There is the same tenderness and warmth, the same comfort and protection it brings, yet you are reminded all the same that he is not the one you love.
“Those are — were his vows to keep, not yours.” You remind once more, but your words seem to reach deaf ears when the only expression on his face is that of a lovesick, diseased man.
“His vows were of reunion and love, and he has promised you eternity. If there is something of his I am willing to uphold, it is his vows to you.” He takes the hand on his heart and brings it to his cheek, leaning into your hand. Slyly, he moves your ear to his heart, and you find that the beating of the muscle doesn’t quite bring you relief. No, something brews inside your heart, and it feels closer to fear.
“Dan Heng, I d-”
“Say my name again.” He demands, his eyes, the bright teal eyes you once loved, harboring a hunger you had never seen before, not even from him.
“Dan… Heng…”
“I remember reading a story in the archives once. A pair of lovers, forever forced to part, doomed to the cycle of reincarnation. In every life, they found each other, but not every meeting was as joyful as it should have been.” He murmurs, his tail wrapping around your waist. His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks as if he has ascended to another plane. “In one of their happier lives, they grew old together. One posed a question to the other as they lay on their deathbeds, destined to continue their cycle of eternal existence. Do you know what the question was?”
Silence rings louder than it has ever been, yet still, he patiently awaits your answer. He knows that at the end of the day, you fall to him. He knows that you will speak.
“I do not.” He is right.
““How many meetings receive their worthy ends?” I have pondered this question since the first time we met at Scalegorge Waterscape, and I have decided.” With a strength you often forget he has, he picks you up and walks out of the door, ignorant of all the stares and whispers that plague his appearance. “I have decided that this meeting will receive the end it is worthy of.”
Everything else he says thereafter is nothing more than white noise.
~~~
Jing Yuan seemed more than happy to let you go with Dan Heng, and the Express was more than happy to welcome you aboard. Dan Heng, having reverted back to his more casual appearance, sticks close to you. Not that it matters, for you rarely leave the Archives.
March 7th is a peppy girl. Himeko is a kind woman. Welt Yang is a knowledgeable member. The Trailblazer is a resilient being. And Dan Heng…
Dan Heng is your captor, holding you to a vow from centuries ago. You have yet to have a moment of rest, a moment where you could finally breathe, but every time you look at him you are reminded of the real person behind the appearance. He is, first and foremost, a dragon, and dragons are primitive creatures; their rules of existence follow simple principles of eating when they are hungry, fighting when they are angry, and taking what they desire.
“Fortune granted our union amidst a crowd of ten thousand,” he reads, your head on his lap. Your eyes are closed, you can feel his fond gaze. A fate of being struck by the mara would be a better fate than being a prisoner of your regret.
Lately, he has taken a liking to the poetry collection you brought with you. His reading has soured the otherwise bewitching poetry, yet you don’t wish for the deception of sleep — you know that it will only bring you the sweet dream you are trying to escape.
“I’d rather break my heart and bathe in flames,
than to break the thought
of night’s drizzle and water lilies by your side.”
#yandere#honkai star rail#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#hsr#yandere x reader#dan heng#yandere dan heng#dan heng x reader#fem reader#female reader#imbibitor lunae
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its me that julie ask again and i have another plot again
so one day, natty out of nowhere suddenly start flirting with you—why? actually she already know julie’s dirty secret [or should i say julie = your slut ;)] anyways natty knows you and julie fucked with each other after she accidentally heard julie’s moan when she walk pass by to whatever you room you two in to fuck, and oh yes natty now know she get a hold on julie; smirking to herself searching your sns.
the way natty flirting with you is something you feel giddy but to julie— it’s annoying af; and of course natty intend to do that; you and natty get along so well, she treats so nice make you smiling and giddy too the opposite of how julie treats you.
julie on the side oh man she is boiling in jealousy and try to not showing out her facial; i mean julie still pretend to not knowing you giving you the “pfff whatever lesbian”; trying her best to give you meanest comment and dirty look but she cant cuz she feel guilty to do that she already catching feelings for you~
and then one day, julie on her way finding you to have fun with and she heard whimper and moaning from her bestie natty, again these girls didn’t really care if they find their bestie fuck in school but she hear natty moaning your name which make her curious as she approach the room and take a sneak as she saw you and natty fuck with each other— letting out gasp her eyes widen in shock as her heart beating rapidly; she feel angry and sad and feel a drop of tear fall down her puffy cheeks— the way natty moaning your name when it was suppose to be her to do that— the way you touch natty and make natty feel good should be you doing that to her! not natty! she turn to walk away to the bathroom quickly picking a stall to get in and sit down to calm herself, hugging her feet while crying silently.
next day, as you walk around the hallway julie grab you and drag you to fuck immediately without saying anything, you just follow her confusingly; oh when you eating her cunt out she moaning out things like “oh fuck y/n yes eat my cunt, my pussy is the best right?”; “does her pussy taste better than me?”; “you like my body better than anybody right?”,…,… something just like that to seek for your validation.
also can i be the 😇 emo?
i love this, really do, but can’t with the angst, NOT today, i need to change the realities to not hurt my precious baby julie’s feelings!! and by that i mean, it would be funny if it wasn’t in fact you, like, julie getting so caught up in her feelings because yes, natty has in fact been flirting with you to get on her nerves and you’re not stupid, you’re smiley and flirty too but it’s more like a silent plan between you two to make julie come to her senses, but it goes all wrong and just ends up with julie THINKING she heard natty moaning your name and that she saw you but it was a completely different person.
and of course that leads to what you said, her looking for validation, pulling your hair a bit too harshly while you’re between her legs, things coming from her mouth and she’s very vocal, not to care about, but she keeps mentioning someone else— “i taste better than her, right?”— to the point you stop everything to look into her eyes and ask what the fuck is going on and she goes 😶 because telling you is obviously admitting her feelings and she’s not doing that… right? wrong, you’re giving her such a look, genuinely caring, hands creeping up and down her thighs, and it makes her heart feel like its going to burst so she ends up confessing everything, with zero pauses, rambling about natty and you and flirting and sex and liking you, a fucking lot, maybe loving you!! all while you’re like “natty and i what— oh you love me? 🥺”
things might get a little messy as you try to explain to her it was a misunderstanding, that you and natty were playfully flirting and that she has all the rights to be mad about that but you never had sex with her and julie thinks you’re trying to manipulate her, mess with her head, and she stays on that until you mention a very specific thing about said day she says she heard you with natty and she goes like “oh…….” and you can hear the gears turning in her mind, turning to you with puppy eyes and APOLOGIZING wtf miss julie han apologizing, saying she feels so stupid, she was so blind at the moment, of course it wasn’t you.
and let’s go lesbians, let’s go, only happy things now! remember, you were on a mission (fucking her). laughing and saying she does act rather stupid when she wants to and she pretends to be so offended, would say something back if you weren’t taking a few steps and caging her body between yours and the wall, not hesitating on going back to play with her pussy :( her breathy moans between messy kisses as you call her your stupid girl and it hits her that well, that’s definitely something because she has never been this wet in her whole life, looking absolutely pathetic while you’re three fingers deep inside her so easily… that’s how she feels, stupid, empty headed. and don’t let me start on telling her she will always taste better than anything while going down your knees and she tries to close legs at your first lick over her slit, too much, too soon, but how can you resist it? she’s the best thing you ever had.
dumbfication!julie nation rise :(
also natty deserves some points here, she was kind of a matchmaker.
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DOG-EARED AND DOUBTFUL starring yuuji itadori. part iii.
──☆*:・ﾟcontent warning: amab!reader (referred to as a boy), canon divergent, college au (18+ characters) inside of the hybridverse. artist!reader, sukuna is related to yuuji. awkward meet-cute, but yuuji is implied to be (and is) slightly unhinged. reader is human and yuuji is a doberman hybrid. fluffy, safe for work-ish. nude modelling. bashful , sorta pushover reader. reader has a stutter. invasion of privacy (yuuji goes through your sketchpad and gets comfortable fast). british use of trousers (pants) and pants (underwear). scent stuff going on, yuuji has a good nose. yuuji is sorta feral and reader's not in a position to (nor does he quite want to) argue. mdni! reblogs and comments appreciated!
wc: 4.2 words.
It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment.
One more page wouldn’t hurt.
You’re just like any other boy in class, really. Maybe the round ears and lack of fur are a bit of a weird look, but Yuuji wasn’t popular when he first transferred to the university either - and some change is always good, he thinks.
“And your tongue—is it really that small?” Someone had asked on your first day in, your classmates ogling your skin, analyzing its novel texture. You’re good at acting nonchalant when you’re placed on the spot. Tone even, eyes level, posture loose and relaxed as you fold your arm over the back of your chair. You’re smarter than they’d ever give you credit for—laughed along with their jibes so they wouldn’t see how gently you swayed. Trembled. The claws of some touchy Wolverine mutt glancing at your collarbones, and you laughed it off, never once minding the sweat cascading down the apex of your temple.
But your scent is disloyal to you. He never thought to mention it. The sour notes of tangerine, key lime, crescendo in the spot where you stand, a heady cocktail of anxiety and embarrassment and horror.
You’re quite popular for a human, however. Maybe that was your conventional appeal. Or rather stood next to them you stick out like a sore thumb, and that makes you far more interesting—purely by virtue of your association. But Yuuji likes to think you have your own redeeming qualities too. You’re an artsy type. Try and spend a lot of time by yourself if you can manage, but your peers seem intent on laywaying your silence; coveting your time like shiny trinkets in a magpie’s nest.
Still, you’re nice to him.
You remember his name. Say “Itadori, hi,” and give him a solemn nod before going on your way. You give him your leftovers you don’t want if your class schedules happen to line up that day. You share your notes from Anthropology, and sketch him in the margins of your notebook on the days you can’t focus.
The patience of hybrids doesn’t often extend to their own kind, and Yuuji’s felt terribly lonely since his grandfather passed - what with his uncle not being much in the way of making conversation. But you’re easy to talk to.
“Ah, Itadori, can you come here?” His tail wags a little at the acknowledgement, but if you notice you failed to comment. “Uh, yeah? What’d you want? I’m a little busy right now, so,” He smiles half-heartedly, suddenly a little uncomfortable to be seen with you like this. You move your stuff away from where you want him to sit at the table, and his eyes are acutely drawn to each movement of your hands. Gathering up runaway pencils, stacking textbooks. “You can call me Yuuji, by the way. I don’t mind.”
Your face lights up at that, and you tell him your name in kind. He tries it. Once for his pleasure. Again to make sure he got it right. He looks back down at the now emptied table, though he doesn’t go to take a seat.
Your lunch is sparse. Two pieces of bread with peanut butter and something else sandwiched in the middle. A browning apple eaten to the core. He thinks about mimicking the impressions of your teeth.
“Ah, well, I know we don’t talk and um - I’m still kinda new here and - please, you can sit,” Your hand fans out to gesture at the chair in front of you, and Yuuji settles into it uneasily. He can smell you’re afraid of something.
“Yuuji…” You tap your pencil on something he can’t see, draped over your thigh. “I.. wanted to draw you.” Yuuji tilts his head, finger absently reaching towards his chin. “Me?”
“Yeah. It’s for an art assignment. We’re practicing portraits.” Your smile is disarmingly charming. “If it was okay with you, I wanted to see if… we could find some time to—y’know. Have you model for me.” Yuuji doesn’t let himself get excited so quickly, the hair on his forearm bristling a bit as he digs his nails into his thigh. Keep it from bouncing. “Okay. Yeah. Sure - that’s fine. I’d love to.”
Yuuji sounds like he’s speaking through grit teeth, but his expression doesn’t expose anything other than slight apprehension. You sigh, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Okay!” You try not to sound too happy about it, but a smile keeps weaseling onto your face. “Okay so, we’d have to book one of the art rooms, but that shouldn’t be too hard—nobody really lingers around after class. Lucky us, right?” You’re fishing your phone out of your pocket, and Yuuji nearly forgets to grab it with his unbloodied hand.
“Here. Add your number, take a photo if you’d like.” You’re teasing, but Yuuji never was good with sarcasm. He smiles big and wide for it, pointed teeth all in the front row.
He saves his name as ‘Yuuji 😎’, and hands your tech back to you. You send a quick ‘hey’ to make sure you got the right number. When his pocket rumbles he’s off no later, barely waving goodbye as he leaves you to your own devices.
You text out the details later. Tomorrow, at 7:00.
He gets there at 6:56 on the dot. Campus has been largely deserted this time of day, and the few stragglers left, student and faculty, each flock to their club space or the odd, afterhour meeting. You’re all set up by the time he’s there. You’re well-prepared, graphites and eraser shavings finding a home on the floor around you. Sticks of pastels lie short and chipped on the easels mantle, your fingertips already blackened by charcoal. This wing is new to him, but the hallways look just like this rooms walls. Student made murals scaling taller than him, ferals unfurling across the unorthodox canvas; a magnificent sky. Ceramic busts settle atop storage cabinets; baked and glazed vases filled with paper flowers, tucked into empty corners. Paintings hung to dry. Thick ink stains as he sidesteps a rolling chalkboard, gently pushing it to the side.
You glanced up when the door opened, but it was more reflexive than comprehending. You saw him, then looked back at the canvas, focused. Only when he nearly stumbles do you look back up again, and you’re smiling really wide. You wave excitedly. “Hey Yuuji!” His ear twitches near imperceptably, tail high and wagging. “Hey.” He’s decent at acting, if you think he’s faking casual you don’t mention it, just gesture to the seat beside you. The chair you saved for him has tall legs and a strong, straight back; perfect for a model.
“Well, you can take this chair when you’re ready,” he’s taking a peak at the easel sat in front of you, identical setups matching yours haphazardly set up around a squat stage in the center of the room.
Your sketchpage: marked with vague gestures and dancing, people-like shapes. You’ve been practicing. You absently tug at your collar at the lack of distance between you two (forgot you were using charcoal, so you quickly stop) and a strange aura radiates from you, the smell of frayed nerves stinging his nose. His tail lulls in its movement, a tad disappointed you weren’t as comfortable with him as he thought you were.
“For a portrait, you being closer is ideal, so we don’t h..have to use the stage. I’ll just do my thing over here and… Oh! I brought some water and um, snacks.” You tilt your head in a familiar, curious motion, ”You like shrimp chips?”
He shrugs at you and smiles. “They’re okay.” He’s flattered you considered him, mostly. He really did like that about you humans, such soft and compassionate creatures; moreso than any of the hybrids he knew. Where they-mournfully, himself included-took a unique pleasure in watching another squirm, your kind wasn’t like that at all, were they? Perhaps an underdeveloped survival mechanism. A tail to tuck in the presence of a predator’s bared fangs. Regardless, your grin crinkles the corners of your eyes and makes his heart soar, your anxiety easing out as you stand from your seat, revealing your true smell. Heat and sweet and pastry-light; a creme bruele after the top has been carefully cracked open. Tickles his cheeks pink.
“So, how long you been doing this art stuff for anyway?” You seem startled by the ask and pause before you answer, probably not used to being asked about your interests by the other hybrids. “Years now. E..ever since I was a kid I always liked art, drawing-” You curse as something rolls out of your bag and say sorry to nothing and no one. “Drawing, traditional, digitally. I was thinking about going into graphic design! - I’m still technically undecided, but I love art… It just calls to me, you know?” Oh, he has no fucking clue what you’re talking about. But he hums in the affirmative and reckons now’s a good a time as any to check. Take a peek through your lens and see the shape of your artisan mind. An artist’s sketchpad to him seemed the appropriate equivalent to their soul; so he takes the opportunity to flip through the pages on your drawing pad.
He’s admittedly expecting something grander. Maybe the inside of an old world colosseum or perhaps something abstract and profound, the kind of things disheartened schoolchildren write essays about; A Great Wave or Thinking Man, befitting of the brand of mystery he’d superimposed on you. Nothing suitably miraculous happens. The task merely becomes more intimate by virtue of your artistic repertoire. Surely, not the fault of his plain nosiness.
All flesh upon the paper is laid entirely bare. Inscriptions of bodies wrap around the canvas from the top to the very bottom like the prayers in a holy book. Any free tarp is not spared, a bared torso and breast here, the sole of a foot en point over there. Largely unfinished yet tangible, beginnings and inbetweens and many more ends; scores of tails, teeth, tongue and claws.
“Oh, wow.” You’re still digging through your bag so you don’t mind him, preoccupied second guessing kneaded erasers and rags to wipe your creativity off on.
To describe your work as a product of mere fascination would be a woefully inaccurate assessment. Not a proper acknowledgement of your time, effort, sweat, (more than a few smudges in the graphite, a whiff of salt that sticks out above the rest) and conviction.
There’s quick notes scribbled between poses and observations, some names - none of which he immediately recognizes, but makes his head fog with some vague posessiveness regardless. Jealousy maybe. He doesn’t linger on it, instead flipping to the next page. Bodies more and more bodies, some without heads; long torsos; hips; thighs and legs and asses,
Lips, mouth wide open, teeth and tongue presenting. There’s a notable lack of vulgarity to the images. A seemingly clinical observation of how the parts move, some independent of the others; but when it all comes together…
It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment.
One more page wouldn’t hurt. (It’s just admiration he’d say, when the real reason he’s so riled up is because he’d been hoping for this moment; all his anxieties of pursuing you assuaged by your apparent obsession for him- er- hybrids like him—can’t get ahead of himself just yet—) His fingers move with deft purpose.
You come back with a whole bag of stuff; chips, ramune, what smells like pocky, but he’s not looking towards you as you return. Surely, you think, a blank page can’t be that interesting, and you’re right; that’s not what he’s staring at.
He’s found your page.
Your life drawing class encourages you to practice still lifes in your free time. There aren’t many hybrids tripping over themselves to be ogled by a human - some models even abject to posing in the room while you’re there - so when the opportunity presented itself to observe something more than a picture, someone else, removed from your wheedling peers, obviously you lept for it.
You’d grown tired of drawing yourself.
“Ah, Yuuji-” Your inhale quick and sudden, the sharp clatter of a glass bottle twitching him out of his stupor. You stiffen up when he looks back at you despite his brevity (because he is just fascinated with your canvas all the sudden), your hands flapping anxiously as you step close, you’d collapse in on yourself if you had the option. “Um wait, please! That’s private!”
You are deeply gifted. He doesn’t have to stare it like he did the other ones cause he recognizes it as you so immediately. (Letting his eyes wander all those times seems to have payed off). Recognizes the arch and swell of your muscles, the slope of your back and the softness of the dimples in your hips, the gentle curve of your -
A hand darts over the artistic nudity before he can fully commit it to memory, and you shout: “Yuuji! I got the snacks, okay? Just- we can get started now,” He can’t read the expression on your face as you reset your canvas and flip to a blank page. He desperately tries to meet your eye; but your gaze is leagues away. An inkling of some base, carnal attraction blooms in his chest; your unwitting submission appealing to some feral hindbrain before he recalls your humanity, disappointingly gentle emotions and sensibilities.
He feels sad for you after though it only lasts a moment, his tail drooping pathetically and eyes sagging similarly as the compunction grapples him; and in a frenzied moment of attempting to sooth your shame (smells dull and salty like wood grain) he gets a good idea. According to his standard, anyway. He smiles at you and pants a little. His finger is digging into his collar at an angle, tugging up; in demonstration.
“If you want me to get naked, I really wouldn’t mind!” His whip tail thud-thuds into your easel.
“Excuse me?” You initially abject, dumbfounded. Your face feels warm and your skin tingles, the blood in your cheeks stinging it darker, body tensing up. “W-why would you..? I..I wouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. I-it’s a, well - Portraits are mostly sup..supposed to be your face, so, getting naked? Really not necessary,”
He’s already taking his sweater off. “Yuuji, please.” His tail wags a little when you whimper and he has a mind to admonish himself for taking pleasure in such a thing.
“It’s fine, really!” Sounds so easy for him to say, when you’re on the verge of an aneurysm. “I was reading a little about it-” (and hardly did he ever read), “-and apparently, portraits can be half, or full bodies. Well, you’d probably know that better than me anyway.” His voice is dampened by the fabric, but you’re too dazed to notice he said anything. Everything is happening too fast.
He kicks off his shoes and drops trou in your choked silence, your hands tremble as dread wars in your mind and you remain uncertain of where to put them. Nevermind your eyes. The thought of trying to stop him warrs with the concept that having to touch him, see him, will surely kill you. “You seem to draw a lot of hybrids- so I assume you’re already used to seeing us naked? Though I didn’t see a lot of dogs in there…”
The room kicks up a few degrees and your blood simmers beneath your skin, your boundaries bent and bowed as you struggle to figure what happens next. Your shirt feels too, too tight. His is starting to come off. The slow drag of cotton across his body is amplified by the emptiness of the space, at a pace entirely too casual for an impromptu strip tease. “But there’s nothing wrong with trying something new every once in a while, y’know?” He stumbles a little when it’s past his shoulders, self consciously fixing his hair after he’s gotten it slung over his arm.
As if he has anything to be nervous about. He looks at you triumphantly when he’s finished (pants regretfully still on), and he wishes you couldn’t meet his eyes this time; get a good eyeful of how excited he is for you. In what must be respectful to you, you catch his gaze this time, with these big round prey eyes that makes the fur on the back of his arms bristle in the studio’s cool air. A vein in his throat jumps and his pupils dilate, but (too) soon you turn away.
You’ve seated yourself back on your chair and fixed up the workspace, though he has a hard time gauging this new expression on your face. Maybe apprehensive, again? Bashful? You chew your lip with this insistence, bruising the delicate skin there. Your hands move with opposed intention; flattening out the canvas and arming yourself with graphite. “O-kay. Y..you can.. Make yourself comfortable I guess..” He can still smell you, too.
This scent is new. Near cloying and knitting to the inside of his nose as it pours off of you, slight, topping off that twinge of orange peel and grapefruit.
“Okay!” He brusquely shoves past your apprehensions; looking mighty pleased with himself-the dog-the muse’s chair dragging agonizingly against the floor as he goes to set it in place. You do nothing at first. He is seated within seconds and after your hand suddenly is no longer your own, flexed potential in every muscle put to pause in the air, your brows furrowing in newfound frustration.
You don’t look at him, still. Yuuji’s triumph of domination having past, he finds the selfish desire to be observed and admired comes gnawing back to him. He doesn’t want to push you (so he says while shoving you) but he really is going all out. He’d like some of that signature human hospitality back, pretty please? He leans closer.
You get infinitely stiffer and he whimpers. An honest to god beaten doggy whine, and your shock is what finally gets you to look up. He’s far more relaxed than you at present, pouting expression at odds with his slouched posture and occasional pant. His floppy ears tilt open and he momentarily mirrors your wide-eyed wonder. “Finally,” he chirps. ”I was starting to think we weren’t actually friends!” You scoff, still staring saucer-eyed. Your eyebrows go up and down and up, your forehead wrinkles. “You ge-get naked for all your f..friends?” The incredulous twang to your voice wants to read to him like jealousy, but projection is a fickle thing.
Yuuji genuinely thinks about your question, further astounding you. “Well. I guess only for the ones I really like.” The statement is made sincerely, the smile accompanying it darling, and could have perhaps romanticized the situation had you not been a sane-minded human man. The warmth in your face has turned to fire hot heat and you sputter on your words. “I’m fl..flattered. But humans? Don’t do t..this,” you attempt to gesture to the entire situation, “With their friends! This is, frankly, too, too-” You stutter into nothing, the thought dying on your tongue. “Too what? I mean, you don’t smell like you hate it,” he sniffs. “My nose is pretty good! If you-” you dislike the way he stresses the syllable, like you’re special some how, “-were scared, I’d smell that miles away. You have a very strong scent you know? It’s not a bad thing though, don’t worry! At least, it isn’t for me anyway. It makes you feel more.. Genuine.” He hums matter-of-factly, your pencil beginning to tremble above the page. “But aren..aren’t you cold? Or-or something? It’s always freezing-freezing in here!”
Yuuji shrugs, ”Aw, it’s no worries really. I sorta run hot, so,”
You knew a lot of things about hybrids. About their keen noses, most gifted with perceptive capabilities beyond that of your kind. Still it feels no better to hear that for despite your subtlety, you never had a chance to evade their prying eyes. You sigh with a shake of your shoulders, and Yuuji takes your silence as an excuse to move closer. “Hey, don’t worry. What’d I say about new things?” You don’t feel terribly reassured, but you nod along for your own sake. “You got an assignment due, don’t you? Just focus on that. Forget Yuuji, focus on capturing..”
“The form.” You finish. Yuuji would have said ‘these guns’, but shrugs. “Yeah, that.”
You look at him again, but only now do you truly perceive him, resigned yourself to capturing his image and replacing the blankness on your canvas. Your gaze is sharp and surgical, your pencil connecting with the paper as you change focus between him and it. Him, his infuriatingly cheeky grin and easy-going eyes and loose limbs. This body worthy of envy. Laid bare for you to wrangle and tame, reduce to your second dimension.
You begin to draw.
Yuuji sits in a silence punctuated by the sounds of your scribbles. Upwards stroke, down again; quick curving motions. Stare right at him, into the depths of his soul. Turn away, and sketch some more.
It’s a lot more boring than he’d imagined it. He is very excited you have your eyes on him; don’t get him wrong, but your stare doesn’t possess any of the fullbodied fascination, like he has for you. He almost wished he could give you his nose just so you could smell his pheremones, or his eyes, so you could catch every little jump of his muscles or twitch of the tail. He’d refrain for a few selfish reasons; Your changes in mood. The straightening of your spine and the twitching of your eye after you got a rhythm going. You ditch the graphite, go for the charcoal, and make some bigger shapes, Strikes some fine lines. Stillness comes simply to him, studying you as intently as you are him.
Your movements slow to an inevitable stop after a time, “Okay…” You stare stonily at your canvas. Briefly compare in silence. “I… think I’m finished.” You don’t move away, seemingly taken by your own creation.
He shoots up from his seat and moves close. “You’re no..not gonna put your c..clothes back on?” He looks down at you with his head at an angle, suddenly peered over your shoulder. “You want me to?” Your silence is loud. “Okay then.” He smiles, finally taking a look at your drawing.
The expression you gave him is burrowing and severe. An intense glower that catches even him off guard. An unbidden hunger beneath his eyes accentuated by whisps of charcoal, a pinprick of yellow nestled into his irises. He is in both awe of it and horrified that is how you saw him. How he truly was. You define the slant of his collarbones after the fact, rounding out the muscle of his pecs. You sketch and erase, sketch and erase under his curious eye, sketch. Your palette grows. Swirled into colorless grey by your finger, pencil replaced by your finger. You draw without a model, so he no longer sees the point in teasing you with his nudity. Forgive him for expecting something more dramatic- he’s been reading too much manga, surely…
He gets dressed slow and gets as close as possible to your face whenever he has a question.
“Is art always this boring?” He whispers close to your ear and you shiver. “M..maybe if you’re not the one…the one drawing. This.. I-I’m having fun, actually.” He tuts at you, “You need to teach me how to draw then. Next time when we do this, I can take a crack at drawing you!” His clawed finger crawls down your shoulder, you sweat a little under his attentions.
“Y..yeah,” you swallow. “Maybe..” He smiles cooly as he eases back into the seat opposite you. “I just don’t think it’s fair you get to have the fun all to yourself, y’know?” You shoot him a look, lip pursed. “A-a lot more people would be more … excited about getting a free portrait.”
“Well, a lot more people would be more excited about getting to see me half naked.” Practically naked, to be a precise as possible. Your exasperation beats out your nervousness and you’re no longer afraid to set your brows with attitude, scoffing in irritation. Like he knows how you feel. The sheer restraint you’re exercising. How adamantly you will not allow this to get out of hand; you will not allow yourself to do something you'll regret- “G..get them to draw you, then!”
“Nah.” He drags his chair closer, but it’s not casual like before. Now the oxygen feels stuffier. Hotness that makes the air thicken and drag you down, a heat that blazes too close to your ears and seemingly makes the air tremble before you. You look toward him, not knowing what to expect (but twitching, aching for it).
His tongue runs over his canines in a raw, animalistic fashion, the deep pools of his amber eyes threatening to drown you beneath their surface. “I don’t like them nearly as much.”
all content written by me @pervcoded is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.
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give your all to me / i'll give my all to you
zutara month, day 10: secret, @zutaramonth
summary: the night before they're set to leave to face ozai, katara can't sleep. neither can zuko. "tell me a secret," she asks of him.
warnings: references to ozai's abuse of zuko, kya's murder and katara's discovery, and ursa's disappearance.
other notes: title is a lyric from all of me by john legend. yes this is the second fic i've written about zutara the night before they're supposed to leave for the final battle. no i will not change <3
Though there are several rooms in the Ember Island house, on the first day everyone was here, they’d dragged all the blankets and pillows from them and instead set up in the open room at the front of the house, and that’s how they usually all fall asleep, near to each other—a holdover from Katara and Sokka’s days growing up in the Southern Water Tribe.
Aang is somewhere else, though. She doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he’s thinking.
She doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow.
Toph is snoring lightly, on her back and feet planted firmly on the ground, but Katara’s gotten used to that. That's not why she can't sleep. Sokka sometimes snores, too, but tonight, she can hear his easy, even breathing. Suki is silent in a way she wouldn’t be if she was awake, and Katara knows she’s pulled Sokka up to her side as she always does in sleep.
Zuko is awake. She doesn’t have to look at him or hear anything to know that.
“Tell me a secret,” she says quietly to the ceiling and to him.
“Like what?” Zuko asks, matching her volume, not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know who she’s asking. Even in the darkness, they have come to understand each other.
“I don’t know. Anything.”
It takes a long moment, but then Zuko says, “Okay.” Another pause, and then: “I use my bending to get the temperature right for the tea. Sometimes.” He says it almost a little guiltily.
Katara snorts and then looks over to make sure she hasn’t woken the others. Toph shifts in her sleep but otherwise only snores again. When she turns, resting her chin on her hand, Zuko is already staring back at her in a mirror image. His amber eyes are two bright points in the dark.
“That is not a secret. You’re not as stealthy as you think.”
“Oh.” She can just make out the way his frown shifts into a slight smile.
“Try again,” Katara says again. “Something I don’t know. Something real.”
He takes a moment to think it over. “The day of the eclipse,” he says finally.
“Yes?”
“My father… he said something.”
“Was this before or after he shot you with lightning?” she asks. It’s rude, abrasive, but—she can’t help it. He’d said that almost casually today while training Aang, and for a moment, that uneasy anger she’d felt when he first came to them resurfaced. Only now, it was for him as well.
How could he ever choose to go back to that? she’d thought. To someone who would do that to him?
“Before,” Zuko says, matter-of-fact, not seeming bothered by her intrusive question. Katara blinks, brought back to the moment. “He said… he implied… I don’t know. He said she might be alive. My mother. I don’t know if it’s true, or if he just…”
Katara’s heart stutters. Knowing something like that was awful. Knowing that no matter how she wished for it, her mother would never return this earth was an awful burden to bear. Remembering what it felt like to run with everything she had, only to find…
But not knowing? Being made to wonder? There’s a different kind of cruelty to that.
“If we win,” Katara starts, then pauses, shaking her head. “When we win—you should look for her. And I'll be there with you,” she promises.
There’s a long, silent moment in the aftermath of that.
“You will?” Zuko asks, sounding sort of choked. Katara smiles softly at him.
“Yeah,” she insists. “You helped me. Remember?”
The journey to find Yon Rha… it hadn’t been easy, or particularly pleasant. But it was what she needed. And Zuko helped her get there. Told her what she needed to know. Guarded her. Respected her choice to walk away without a word one way or the other, no approval and no dissent.
Zuko stares at her for a moment, discerning. “You don’t owe me anything, you know. It—it wasn’t about that.”
“I know. But I still want to help you.”
“...Okay,” he replies in a soft voice. Then: “Now it’s your turn.”
“Hm?” Katara asks, her eyes starting to feel heavy with sleep.
“To tell me a secret.”
Katara winks an eye open again. Mulling it over, she leans just a touch closer and reaches over to smooth his wild hair out of his eyes and touch a gentle hand against his face, against his scar.
Zuko leans into her hand.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
#zutaramonth2024#zutara month#zutaramonth#zutara#zuko x katara#give your all to me / i'll give my all to you#my fic#the intimate hand sweeping hair out of someone's eyes gestures my beloved <3#day 10: secret.#trigger: abuse.#trigger: murder.#ask to tag //
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the coring, the goring
alpha!blade/beta!reader/omega!luocha
you are a beta courier. kafka asks of you a favor.
tags: filth and spice below like you wouldn't believe, extremely dubious consent, luocha and blade are freaks but that's nothing new, prone bone
pt 3 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. they've been extremely generous enough to beta read all three parts and give feedback. i could not have done this without them!
part 1, part 2, collab masterlist
Kafka shows up at your apartment, one afternoon. After Blade stayed over, flayed you open, left your tender underbelly exposed to the pale moonlight. You still don’t know how you feel about him. You do, however, know how you feel about her.
You’ve never told her where you live, but it doesn’t surprise you that she knows. She lingers in the doorway, leaned up against the left side. Her coy smile is more subdued than usual.
“I need your help with something,” she says. At least she isn’t wasting time on the pleasantries, today. That’ll get her to leave quicker, and that’s pretty much all you’re concerned with. You still blanch, because she wants something from you. That’s always a dire sign. Something in your life is about to go awry.
“You can’t find someone else? I’m a bit busy today.” you narrow your eyes at her. Her smile tightens. Whatever she’s come here for, it must be urgent.
“Whatever your clients pay you, I’ll double it for the days you miss. Every single one. I’ll even throw in some of those honey candies you like to sweeten the deal.”
“Days?” you blink, already beginning to calculate the potential gains and losses in your head. Missing several shifts could lose you a few clients—could you wheedle her into paying you that difference until you find new ones?
“Yes, days,” Kafka twirls a lock of her hair absentmindedly. “You see, Bladie has a little problem that needs delicate taking care of—” she begins, voice pitching up, preparing to wind around the crux of the whole thing until you lose your mind.
You cut her off there. “Just give it to me straight.”
“Always so forward,” she pouts. Her voice winds up like she’s about to give you a scolding, but she flattens out, lips curling into a lazy smile. “I like that about you.”
“Bladie is in rut,” she continues. Slowly, like she’s explaining the concept to a child. “He has someone to take care of him—that merchant, the blonde one. The only problem is, well… their paths don’t make them entirely compatible.”
Your lips twitch into a frown. Destruction and Abundance, on opposite ends of the spectrum. If they were both normal people, it wouldn’t pose a problem… but you have no idea if Blade’s unique condition could cause complications. Regardless, you’re not sure why she’s telling you. This isn’t your problem.
“They’ll need a mediator—” she begins.
You’ve heard enough. “Absolutely not.”
“Aw, c’mon. These two have been barking up your tree for more than a month and you’re not curious?” she teases,
“No.”
She says your name. Your spine goes rigid. Something sweet and cloying pricks its claws into the soft flesh of your consciousness. This is suddenly no longer a negotiation.
“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be… present, in case Blade’s mara rears its ugly head.”
“You could do that,” you point out.
Kafka shrugs. “I could, but that isn’t the only benefit of having an emanator of Harmony around. I can’t mediate like you can,” You hold your tongue only because you know she’s right. “I know it’s a hassle, but I’ll make it worth your while. And I’ll pay you triple of what you would have made this week.”
You narrow your eyes. “And if his rut doesn’t last a week?” Unease churns at the bottom of your gut. This isn’t your wheelhouse. To delve to the depths of intimacy when you haven’t even waded the shallows is unwise at the very best, life-endangering at the worst. You’re not attached to Luocha and Blade in the way they are attached to each other. And the moment you lower the drawbridge and weaken your walls, you anchor yourself even further to the Luofu.
“You’ll be paid the same, regardless.” Kafka says, as though it’s in any way comforting.
You loosen the tensed muscles of your jaw. It’s not as though you… dislike Blade. You think about him, early in the morning, when you’re too sleepy to get your thoughts straight. You remember keenly the press of his lips, the smell of him as he breached your personal space, permitted himself to your skin—
You shut your eyes. You feel too hot, all of the sudden, “Can I get that in writing?”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I can wire you the money right now—” Kafka slides her phone out of her pocket, nimble fingers clicking all over the screen. You still aren’t comforted.
“No, it’s fine,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, already feeling the oncoming headache. You can’t believe you’re doing this. “When do I have to be there?”
—
The house looks the same as it always does. There’s nothing new on the breeze. Nothing beside the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. You knock on the door. Luocha stands in the doorway, red robe hanging off his shoulder. Bruises bloom on his skin like blood in water, spots of bluish-purple that run up the left side of his neck. You blink, speechless. He’s greeted you dressed like this, before, but he’s never looked so ragged. So run-down. His lips are kiss-swollen, lit up an angry pink. Flaxen blond flows down his shoulders like a river stream, strands sent awry in several places—they look like they’ve been tugged at, manhandled in a way you never imagined he would allow.
“Oh, good. You’re here,” he chimes, and steps aside. He motions for you to come in. It’s a threshold you’ve crossed many times, but something about this feels permanent. There’s a heavy feeling in the air. The faint scent of something spiced and smoked lingers throughout the entryway and living room. Unease prickles up the back of your neck. The door clicks shut behind you. A hand lands on your shoulder. “No need to be so tense, my dear Courier. Nothing bad will happen to you here.”
“What exactly will happen here? Kafka gave me the rundown, but…”
“Well, that depends on you,” Luocha hums. The warm hand on your shoulder slides down to your bicep. He stands behind you, a solid stroke of heat along your back. “I know I speak for us both when I say we would very much like you to participate, but all you really have to do is… watch.” He breathes the word, breath soft and hot against your ear.
He slips away from your side. The space he occupied at your back feels cool and empty. You shiver.
“—And you’ll have to intervene should anything go awry. While I can sate his carnal urges, the same cannot be said for his mara,” Luocha continues, cracking open the bedroom door.
“You came,” Blade’s voice rumbles, raspy with sleep and something else. He’s laid across the bed like a lounging panther, appraising you with eyes half-open. The long stretch of his body is completely bare, all broad muscle and softness in certain places. He’s taken the bandages off his chest, you realize after a few moments of looking (staring) at him from the doorway. Free of clothes and free of scars, a perfect statue of a man.
Luocha, behind you, mistakes your shock for apprehension. He laughs by your ear.
“It’s only natural to be apprehensive. Come. Just watch for a bit.” His fingers squeeze your shoulders. You let him steer you over to an armchair with green cushions sat by the nightstand, up against the wall. Blade stares at you from the other side of the bed.
He doesn’t stop looking at you. Even when Luocha rests a knee on the bed, robe slipping off his arm, inch by inch of pale skin opened to the gaping maw of his gaze. His back—it’s as broad as you would expect from a man who lugs around a coffin on the daily. Not as big as Blade. There’s a sinuous grace to his figure, with narrow hips and—you don’t dare let your gaze lower. Because he’s looking at you looking at him over his shoulder with that coy little smile, just waiting for you to slip up.
And then he’s not looking at you, anymore. You’re entreated to a view of those long, luscious locks—sliding over the alabaster of his back as he approaches Blade on his knees.
“Well, Blade. I know you’re excited, but you’ll have to settle for me for just a little longer,” he says. You nearly open your mouth to remind him that you haven’t agreed to anything, but the breath is robbed from you as he mounts Blade’s thighs.
The alpha’s cock is long and thick enough to make you cringe as the tip nestles between Luocha’s cheeks. Twin groans fill the air. Blade’s voice is low and coarse, the vibrating thrum of an old engine.
Luocha luxuriates in the stretch. His back arches, head bowing back as he takes the other man inch-by-inch. The dim light which reaches in through the closed blinds casts him in perfect clarity, and you can see his thighs begin to shake as he seats himself fully on Blade’s lap. His fingers fist in the sheets on either side of him, glimmering silk bunched between long pianist’s fingers. Cock taken to the hilt.
“You’re putting on a show,” Blade accuses.
“And you’re watching.” Luocha replies, voice breathy and soft. He starts to say something else—but Blade’s hands fit over his hips, bulky fingers nestling into his v-lines. His voice devolves into a choked little sound as he’s lifted, until only the tip remains inside of him. The effortless gesture of strength makes you swallow and sink back in your seat. The air swells with unabated sweetness. And you—you react to it.
Your fingers tense briefly, gripping the hard cushion armrests as you watch Blade fuck into him with voracity bordering unhinged. Luocha’s soft moans reverberate through the room, each one goes straight to your wetting cunt. Your thighs squirm and shift, pressed tight together.
Blade grunts. His thrusts lose what little rhythm they possessed to begin with. You see every slide of his thick cock into Luocha’s loosened hole—slick-doused and swelling. You can see the muscles in Luocha’s back tense and stretch as he arches. The orgasm wracks him bone-deep. His toes curl. And Blade—Blade’s grip only tightens. Luocha’s thin waist is clutched entirely in his hands. His nails dig into the skin as he sheathes himself with a throaty snarl. The cum is so excessive that it drips and pools on the silken sheets, running down Luocha’s creamy thighs.
The room goes quiet. There’s only the steady sound of their mixed breathing, desperate huffs which level out over the next however long. You’re stuck there, still. The room smells of sex. A strange, hot feeling rolls down your spine. You feel like an exposed nerve. Like a trigger a hair away from being pulled.
Luocha, eventually, pulls himself off of Blade with another slick sound. Blade shuts his eyes and reaches out a shaky hand, wrapping it tight around Luocha’s shoulder. His nails bite into the pale skin, thick fingers right next to a ring of recent bitemarks.
“Mm,” Luocha pauses. He presses his lips to the scarred fingers which clutch him. At this distance—you can sense the sudden lurch of Destruction, spurred on by cloying mara and the natural, ingrained need to give chase. To empty the wellspring of Luocha’s Abundance like a man parched. You tense in your seat. Pushing your scrambled nerves aside, you reach for the Harmony—expel it and let it float through the chamber. “I'm not going anywhere, Blade. You know that.” Luocha says. Blade’s grip loosens. The wildfire in his eyes dims to a hearth. He settles.
Now free to be as obnoxious as he likes, Luocha turns fully to you.
“Ah,” his eyes twinkle as he licks his lips, looking at you now. “Did that do it for you?”
“N…No.” your voice feels thick in your throat. The most bold-faced lie you’ve ever told.
Luocha laughs a little. “It’s alright; you don’t have to say it. How about you come over here? Or do you want me to come over there?”
“I’m perfectly content to watch,” you insist. Your voice comes out steadier than you thought it would. But Luocha only smiles. He regards you with that same, infuriating knowingness that he always does.
He slides off the mattress, smooth as fine grain sand and assured in his nakedness. You feel the tips of your ears get hot as he approaches, crosses the breadth of the room with swaying hips.
He has you, and he knows it. Long fingers slide over your arms where they clutch the armrest. His thumbs rub over the back of your palms as he looms close.
“You can stop this,” he murmurs, voice close to a whisper. He pries your fingers off the armrest, urges your hands to go limp. “Any time you want,” he says, but you don’t feel like it. You feel pinned by the voracity in Blade’s eyes as he stares at you from his perch on the mattress.
Luocha slides to his knees like a swan takes to water. Slender fingers work the buttons of your trousers open, thumbs which slide beneath your waistband pull them down. You make a grab for the elastic, clutching it in your fist. The breath rushes in and out of your lungs, something in you suddenly awoke. The fear and an apprehension you should have felt from the start snap to life like a bolt of lightning.
But Luocha. Luocha gently pulls it again. More like an ask than a demand, and you let it go. You swallow as he slides them off. revealing the seat of your panties. Wet.
“Oh? All for us? That’s very flattering,” he says, like you’re a child who's earned the praise. You don't know what kind of face you make, but it must accurately convey your displeasure because his eyes crinkle, unmistakably fond. “Forgive me. I simply can’t resist teasing you… and I was under the impression that you hated me for the longest time.”
Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. Your throat feels full of something thick and unsweet.
Your underwear comes next. It's a simple black pair. He thankfully spares you the commentary as he delicately slides it down your thighs, your legs, so meticulously careful in his handling of you.
“Well, you still might,” he continues, once you're bare from the waist down. “But at the very least, I know you feel some base level of attraction.”
His tongue parts the wet folds of your pussy. You tilt your head back, fingers curling to clutch the armrests, unwilling to watch him make a mess of you. The air feels liquid around you, murky with their scents—which have taken on, somehow, a new intensity.
You don’t get to think about it, because Luocha brings your knee over his shoulder and puts his lips on your clit, tip of his tongue flirting with your entrance. He laps up your slick, drinks you in like a man starved. You jerk, a wheeze rattling out from between your ribs, but Luocha holds you fast.
Pleasure surges in you like a current, a clever twist of his tongue making you jerk—and moan, like the harlot you know you are not. It sinks in, then and only then, as you clench his flaxen locks in your fist, that this is happening.
But you don’t get to digest it. Something hot snaps in the core of you, toes curling as you gush wet and hot into his eager mouth.
His lips are shiny with your slick when he pulls away, lips curved into an unmistakably satisfied grin. Your chest rises and falls as you try and catch your breath. You feel—wrung out, hazy in the remnants of your climax.
“I hope I lived up to your expectations.”
You blink blearily at him. “I didn’t expect anything from you after all.”
There’s a small huff from behind him. A small smirk pulls at the corners of Blade’s lips.
“How charmingly candid,” Luocha says, unbothered. You’re still too witless to muster a witty retort. Or any sort of retort at all, because as soon as you try, he heaves you into his arms with an ease you hadn’t expected.
An undignified sound bleats from deep in your throat, words on the tip of your tongue mangled as you scramble for purchase. You dig your nails into the pale skin of his shoulders. The muscles there are broad and smooth. Exactly what you would expect from a man who carries a coffin around with him all day.
“Wait just a second—”
“You surely don’t think the chair will be a more comfortable place for this than the bed, do you?” he asks, hands big and warm on the backs of your thighs.
“Don’t just go picking someone up without warning,” you seethe, and it still feels like a concession.
“Ah,” Luocha’s smiling again. “My apologies—I forgot how easily you scare. I’ll be sure to give you due warning, next time.”
“I don’t scare easily.” you mutter. He hums. Then he gently deposits you onto the mattress. Blade lounges easily, passion only betrayed by his smoldering, half-lidded gaze. The long line of his body is caked in muscle. The kind of body you’d expect from someone who carries around a sword that heavy—whose hands have ended a number of lives and worlds beyond your reckoning.His chin rests idly on the palm of his hand. Your gaze drifts over the smooth ridges of his abdomen, the plush of his chest.
Luocha settles up against the headboard. His cock is out, you realize belatedly. It stands hard and proud against his stomach. And his thighs glisten with release—both his and Blade’s. Your cunt throbs.
A hand reaches over and fists in Luocha’s hair, dragging him downwards for an open-mouthed kiss. He tongues your release from Luocha’s mouth. Lewd, wet sounds fill the balmy air, rumbling groans and soft little whines. Even now, in this deep between them, you feel like a voyeur. Yet, you watch them with lips parted and eyes wide.
You shudder.
Eventually, they separate.Wordlessly, Blade sits up and disappears behind you. You try to crane your neck to follow where he goes, but Luocha’s nimble fingers yet again seize your jaw.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice delicate as it hovers in the air between you. “Blade’s not going anywhere, dear. Just focus on me for the time being, alright?”
But it’s so hard when you can feel the presence behind you, hovering like a dark cloud. You swallow, the noise impossibly loud in your own ears. Your cunt is wet and you’re sweating and your shirt is still on—but Luocha endeavors to fix that in the next moments. It’s difficult, in the haze of everything, to keep track of where his fingers go or when your button-up slides off your shoulders, to breathe when he unlatches the clasp of your bra like he’s done it a thousand times before.
How many people has he done this with, before? A bitter taste twinges at the back of your mouth. Unprovoked and without reason.
Blade’s big hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing the space above your waist.
“Handle her gently, Blade,” Luocha murmurs gently. His soft hands stroke down your bare arms. His verdant gaze drags down your torso, too slow to be anything but indecent.
Blade grunts. He squeezes, once, before he lifts you without warning. You splutter, hands snapping to perch on Luocha’s shoulders for some sense of balance as you’re moved with near pitiful ease. The show of strength sends a fresh wave of heat flush to your drooling cunt, and you try not to pant as you feel the tip of Luocha’s cock nestle against your folds.
Your fingers curl and your eyes shut.
“Just like that,” Luocha says, simple and light. Another pair of hands settles on your thighs—and he’s breached you. You choke.
The stretch hurts. You didn’t expect anything else, but your head still falls back, eyes clenching shut as your walls spasm and squeeze tight. Behind you, Blade pants like a dog, huffing into the crook of your neck, inhaling you by the lungful. There’s a tremble in his hips that you can feel.
It takes you a moment to realize that the whimpers filling the room are yours.
“Re—lax,” he breathes, sounding almost pained. Like he has the right to. Like he isn’t fucking you open, pushing deep in as your greedy cunt squeezes and struggles to take him. Your knees press hard into the mattress, instinct prompting your aching thighs to buck upwards and flee the intrusion, but Blade holds you fast, grinding his teeth into your aching skin.
“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Luocha praises, cooing as your cunt clenches, “Oh,” he sighs, like he’s awed by it. His green eyes, unseeing, blown wide—your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders as Blade lifts you again, up and up until only the head of his cock remains inside. “Gentle, Blade.” he bids, eyelids low—
And then Blade eases you down. It’s a slow drag. It hurts less, this time. Sparks of pleasure roll up your spine and send your cunt aflutter, your nails raking into his shoulders as they set the pace. He rolls his hips as Blade moves you—puppeteers you, his mouth tracking wet, open-mouthed kisses over your shoulders and up the sides of your neck. His teeth score into your yielding flesh.
“Stop—gnawing at me,” you snarl, reaching a hand back to swat him like an unruly animal. His lips find the meat of your palm, lips tenderly grazing the skin there as if in apology. He growls and inhales, again, and you marvel in fear and awe at just how stupid the chemicals in his brain have made him. Are all alphas like this, during their ruts?
Luocha says something else, but it’s all lost to the filth, to your moans and cries and other undignified noises as they further unravel you. Blade grips hard enough to bruise, his breath heavy against your skin, your ears. They work in tandem. Blade fucks you up and down on Luocha’s cock like a fleshlight, and Luocha rocks his hips into your fluttering, tight pussy in a quickly unraveling rhythm.
And Blade—you feel his cock press hot up against your back just as dexterous fingers glide over your clit, Luocha’s touch making you thrash. Your sweat-slicked skin grinds up against Blade’s front, and he snarls.
You come, orgasm a searing and unwieldy thing. You crash over the precipice, head tossed against Blade’s shoulder as your cunt spasms around Luocha’s cock. Milking him, shaking body trying to suck him in deep. Your entire body is one hot line of heat, pressed between them and oh fuck, Blade keeps fucking you onto Luocha’s cock. The blonde’s consistent and precise thrusts stuttering out of pace until he comes with an obscene groan. His fingers dig into your thighs as he fills you, rope after rope of his release hitting inside.
The room fades into a calm quiet. The air is dense with the smell of sex. Even through the exhaustion, the pheromones pry under your skin and keep you as hot as the bodies you’re wedged between. Blade lifts you from Luocha’s cock with pitiful ease, and the noise you let out at the separation is downright pathetic. Your mixed releases slide slick down your thighs and onto the sheets below, and your consciousness rouses just enough to feel a twinge of humiliation.
“Lovely little thing, you were even more incredible than I anticipated,” His fingers clumsily draw over your cheek, your neck, your side. Petting you, palms shaping around your breasts and stomach as you come down from the high. You all but collapse against Blade’s front, boneless.
The moment he releases you, you topple onto the bedding next to Luocha. It’s hard to breathe. The air feels thick. You fight to regain your bearings amongst the haze, covered in sweat and cum and sore spots all over your neck and shoulders.
Luocha coos. The pads of his fingers gently prod one such spot.
“You didn’t have to be so rough,” Luocha hums at Blade. His touches delicately circle every point of pain, “This is your first impression in bed. You may be in rut, but you have enough self-control to not chew on your caretakers. You aren’t an animal, are you?”
“No,”
“No,” Luocha repeats, airy and fond as he pulls away. “You’re a blade. I don’t know if that’s more or less of an excuse.” He says, but he doesn’t sound frustrated. His scolding is light-handed and more amused than anything.
“Will you two quiet down?.” you grouse, finally coherent enough to complain again.
“Our apologies. We really should be putting our mouths to better use,” Luocha says, rubbing your back again. You throw a hand back to try and swat him away, but he pushes you aside with frustrating ease. “As much as I would like to afford you the proper time to rest—”
He doesn’t get a word in before you’re being manhandled onto your back.
Big hands pin your hips to the mattress. Blade’s palms are hot and clammy, sweat rubbing into your exposed skin.
“I appreciate this,” he rumbles lowly. His candlewick irises threaten to swallow you whole as he ducks close, pressing your foreheads together. Blade’s keen gaze shifts from your eyes, rolls down your face and over your throat like a soft breeze.
You swallow, your breath stolen from you in a gasp as he turns you over yet again. He maneuvers you how he likes, front pressed right against the sheets from head to toe. His hand settles in the crook of your left knee, opening you for the hot press of his head. The slow press of him is a sweet agony. He’s too big, he’s so fucking big—your cunt struggles to accommodate him as he bullies his way inside. Short, aborted thrusts which grate against your velvet walls. Your entire body twitches, overworked nerves crying out in muted protest, but the pleasure is open and heady, your entire body made pliant by the pheromones and—oh and it’s so much easier to go prone, like this.
Blade’s eager mouth tooths a path along your shoulder, seeking the crook of your neck with single minded hunger.
It’s a slow, heavy push aided by previous climaxes, but he’s still much too big. You weren’t meant to take anything like this, you can’t help but think.
Luocha gives a sympathetic coo. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Is it? You try to answer, but all that comes out is a low, animal sound. Half pained but all pleasured. If Luocha filled you, Blade bursts you to the seams. Your fingers claw at the bedding as you struggle to take him, unable to stifle your voice. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to hilt. Minutes or hours. Time is lost to you, all of your focus centered on the tight space between your legs and how he swells in it.
A wet, warbling sound wanders out of your weary throat as you feel his thighs press to the back of yours. At last complete. The grip he has around the crook of your knee tightens, his breath sputtering onto the back of your neck as he pulls out.
The first plunge back in is no better than the initial fit. He pumps you full, over and over, pace breaking into something ravenous at the first sign of your acquiescence. You can’t think, you can hardly breathe as your velvet walls suck him in. Every thrust has his cockhead teasing your sweet spot. You try to arch your back, but you’re met by the solid wall of muscle that comprises him, flattening you to the bed, leaving you cored and flayed open for him to fuck, to fill, to stick his fingers and tongue inside. He scrapes his teeth over what feels like the marrow of you and makes your vision go hazy with tears. They roll down your cheeks, fat droplets soaking the bedding beneath you.
Your orgasm isn’t a steady trickle but a sudden burst, white hot pleasure erupting behind your clenched eyelids. He fucks you through it. His knees dig into the mattress on either side of your body, pelvis slapping your ass with each disjointed thrust. Whatever rhythm he might have had sputters into nothingness. He mindlessly pursues his own climax, lips fitting over your shoulders. He kisses your spin. His hot tongue laps at your sweat and your bruises, almost tender.
There’s an ask, there. A request for your forgiveness, or your acknowledgement. But you are too spent to speak.
He cums inside of you, his release splattering your walls and dripping onto the sheets below. It’s so vulgar it almost makes you nauseous. But your toes curl and your voice pitches into a watery whine because he’s still fucking you.
“Blade,” you find your voice, but do not recognize the ragged, ruined thing it has become. “Blade!” The pleasure has long tilted over the edge into pain. You claw at the sheets. You can’t tell if you’re trying to squirm away or arch closer, all that you know is the heat of his body and smell of sex and wetness of his cum running down your thighs.
“Blade,” a different voice says. You completely forgot Luocha was even there. You can’t see where he is, “Remember what we talked about? Don’t knot her. She’ll break.”
“The poor thing,” he says, voice soaked in sympathy. A slender hand curls beneath your cheek, wedged between it and the pillow. Your lips press against the palm as your face is forced up.
Luocha’s eyelids are low. His lips slightly parted, and his expression so impossibly benevolent as he observes you.
“Just a bit more,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against the swell of your bottom lip. You huff and squeal into his hand as Blade’s body tenses, readying itself for another orgasm. And as he spills within you a second time, Luocha steals the moan off your tongue with a deep, searching kiss.
—
Afternoon has shifted into late evening. The living room is cooler than the shaded bedroom. Somewhere after a third climax, you had been cleaned, a robe maneuvered onto your form by clinging, roughened hands. You’re not sure who did what. For the past hour, you think you’ve hovered dangerously close to unconsciousness, barely able to open your lips to sip on the glass of water someone held up for you. The rim was blissfully cold. You swallow the drink down with a voracity you’ve scarcely ever shown, let it soothe your sore throat and float some of the life back into you.
You’re endlessly grateful for this as you scarf down dinner. Some greasy takeout that fills your empty stomach, fried batter crunching nice between your teeth.
Exhausted, and sore, and something related to satisfied, you finally rest your weary eyes. Your fingers find Blade’s silken strands. His face is nestled into your lap, nose pressed into the inseam of your thigh. He all but flopped atop of you after you finished eating, content to doze half-under a red blanket.
Each breath taken is a warm puff you can feel through your robe. When did it go this far? How did it go this far? In a few hours, will he be just as voracious as he was when you walked in? You rummage through what remains of your cognizance in search of answers, but come up blank. All it amounts to is feeble frustration. Your fingers still comb through those long, luscious locks.
Footsteps pads in your direction from behind. You don’t bother to look up at Luocha until he nudges something into your hand. The stem of a wine glass is pressed into your shaking fingers.
When you look up at him, he only smiles, “For the nerves,” he says, and settles on the other sofa. “And the pain.”
You stare into the glass. The person reflected in the deep cherry looks sleepy and sated. A feeling of defeat churns in the depths of you. Your stomach sinks. You shut your eyes and let your head loll onto the back of the armchair. The plush upholstery cushions the back of your skull. The steady, building buzz of anxiety building behind your eyes amounts to a soft, yet still aching throb.
You lift the glass, and press your lips to the rim.
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now?
Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC
Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff
Word Count: 502
Warning: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Dates and times don't matter.
The days before media day are usually ones where drivers aren’t expected to be at the track for long, but this is a track that has been off the calendar for so long that none of the twenty drivers feel comfortable enough to leave exploring it for later in the week. Especially Charles, who has walked the thing twice and is halfway through a scooter “walkthrough.” His mind is focused solely on mapping things out and imagining himself in his car taking the route. It’s a struggle, but it’s helping calm his nerves.
A hand slamming down onto his shoulder throws off his concentration and startles him. Other drivers have gone by him, but he’d been alone for several minutes.
As he calms his racing heart he meets Lewis’ gaze. He wishes he hadn’t though. Charles has rarely seen the older man look angry, he hides it well even when he’s voicing displeasure, but right in this moment Charles feels fear enter his body. Something tells him he’s in danger, though he can’t fathom why. He opens his mouth to ask questions, but Lewis raises his phone so that it’s eye level with Charles. That makes him a little more confused, but then he squints at the screen and his heart rate picks up again.
“No, no, no, no. It’s not what…”
“I know it isn’t. At least it better not be?”
Charles shakes his head. “It is not.”
“Then how are you going to fix it? I don’t appreciate my sister seeing shit like this. And I don’t like the comments it’s bringing to her social media.”
“I… I didn’t know that that was up. I would have… This would be down and I would have dealt with it if I knew.”
Lewis softens, but not much. “Well, you know now, fix it.”
With that he leaves. Lewis’ scootering away doesn’t deescalate the heightened emotions Charles feels and George appearing and following Lewis doesn’t either. Even if the Brit turns back to give Charles a tense, but reassuring smile.
Another thing he would know about him, but at least this time Charles would know how George got the information.
But he couldn’t even find it in himself to think about that for too long, pulling out his phone and hopping online to see all the posts he’d been tagged in. They’re tamer than the ones he wasn’t tagged in and his hand unconsciously moved to his hair to tug at it.
Of course, the one time he would have preferred to not be seen with an ex he is, while all the other times it wouldn’t have mattered, he'd flown under the radar. He’s sure that the rumors about him and Iman are partly to blame for the increase in eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to blame the girl who’d seen them that first time or the people at the club.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
After taking a breath, he pockets his phone and races back to the garage.
charlesleclerc Maybe be sure about who I give my affection to before posting.
immyham charles
↳charlesleclerc mon ange, I told you I couldn't help myself
logansargeant RETWEET
↳lewishamilton retweet
↳georgerussell retweet
↳alex_albon retweet
↳lilymhe retweet
↳oscarpiastri retweet
user not him just full on hard launching
↳user It's not like we didn't know
user Oop not the grid in the comments also calling y'all out? Even Oscar. Apologies with tears from all of you immediately.
user They're so cute
hateruser Oh...
user And y'all better not bring up his ex either.
user he told y'all to shut the fuck up LOL
immyham well my soft launch is ruined, but i'm still going to post this because it's cute. maybe when someone learns to not go rouge he'll get his own dump
lewishamilton Why you make it look like I was flipping you off?
↳immyham uh because you were????
charlesleclerc I won't say sorry, mon ange.
↳immyham 🙄
user he calls her mon ange 😍
user They're so cute
user and y'all swore charles would never
user HA I WAS RIGHT
user logan and her looking like menaces to society
user not her failed soft launch including all three of her favorite men. immy is so cute
hateruser Ew, he should have gotten back with his ex.
#charles leclerc x black reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x black!reader#formula one x black reader#formula one x reader#formula 1 x black!reader#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#formula one x oc#formula 1 x oc#charles leclerc x oc
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Don’t leave me
………………………………….
Saturday night is my favorite night! You know why? Because I get to spend time with Joe. Joe and I have been together ever since Sophomore year. I met him when I was in eighth grade. I just recently moved to Athens and wasn’t really happy about moving. My first day of eighth grade I was so nervous. I walked into my advisory classroom and saw my fellow classmates chatting with their friend groups. The only person I saw sitting alone was Joe. Turns out he had none of his friends in that class, but he was the type of person to talk to anyone and make friends in a second, but Joe just sat alone looking at a SpongeBob comic book. Our teacher Mrs Wood welcomed me in to the class and told me to find a spot to sit so we could put on morning announcements in a few minutes. The only seat open was the one next to Joe. I walked over and sat in the seat. He didn’t even look up, he just looked over at his comic. After I put my bag on the floor and looked around the classroom I noticed Joe still hadn’t noticed someone was sitting next to him. I guess he was real deep into his comic. After a couple seconds I finally worked up the courage to say hi.
“Hi.”- you smiled
Joe looked up from his comic
“Oh, hi! Sorry I didn’t notice you there. I was deep into my comic! I’m Joe by the way,Joe burrow.”- joe smiled
“It’s ok! I’m y/n, y/n L/n!”- you smiled
“It’s nice to meet you y/n!”- joe
“It’s nice to meet you too! What are you reading that’s so good you couldn’t look up?”- you chuckle
“Oh, it’s a SpongeBob comic book! I knew it’s a little childish but don’t judge!”- joe
“Hey, I’m not judging”- you threw your hands up
“I think it’s kinda cool! I like SpongeBob too, but never really read the comics.”- you
“Really? You can look at it to if you want?”- joe
“You sure?”- you
“Yeah!”- joe
“Ok, thanks!”- you
Joe moved the book more towards me.
Ever since then we have been best friends, but we found out we both had feelings for each other the start of sophomore year we decided to start dating! It’s been amazing being joes girlfriend. He’s so lovely, loyal, funny, kind, and really cute! He just gets me and makes me laugh really hard! But ever since a couple weeks ago we have been having some little arguments, but today was the worst argument we have ever had.
“So did you?”- joe said
“Did I what, Joe?”- you said grabbing a glass of water
“Did you make a move on him?”- joe
“What? Are you crazy? No, he came on me, Joey.”- you
“Well it didn’t look like it.”- joe
“Joe, what is wrong with you? I would never do something like that. I’m so deeply in love with you it hurts and you think I would go hit on one of your friends?”- you raised your voice
“Well he was eyeing you all night and flirting with you. Then he try’s to make a move on you.”- joe raised his voice
“YEAH! And I shoved him off!”- you
I was furious that he even thought this. I know Joe has some trust issues but he really thinks I would do this to him. Never.
“I can’t believe you right now. I love you, Joe and only you. I would never go and make out with someone. I’m not a cheater Joe, it crazy that you think are thinking like that of me.”- you
I was so done with this conversation I decided to walk out. I hate having arguments. Especially if it’s with someone I love.
“Y/n, where are you going?”- joe yelled
“HOME!”- you
We decided to spend the night at joes because his parents weren’t in town for the weekend. We wanted to go to one of our friends parties then come back to his place.
“Y/n, come back!”- joe started running after you after you slammed the door and started walking
Thunder roared in the distance then just a second later it started to rain.
“Oh great.”- you said sarcastically
I stared fast walking as fast as I could in a dress and converse in the rain.
“STOP, Y/N!”- joe
He frappes my arm and pulled me towards him.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking in the moment, ok? I got jealous that he was flirting with you then got furious when he tried to kiss you. I took it out on you and I’m sorry. I know you will never do something like that. I shouldn’t have doubted you or accused you of something like that. You are an amazing, beautiful, smart, funny, and insanely gorgeous girlfriend. I am truly sorry. It was a shitty thing to do and again, I’m sorry.”- joe
I pulled him in for a kiss. His bleached blond hair was wet. His clothes were soaked and he was out of breath from running and talking.
“It’s ok Joe. I know you have a hard time trusting people, but you shouldn’t have thought that I would do something like that, ever! Ok?”- you
“Yeah, I’m truly sorry.”- joe said almost on the verge of tears
“It’s ok, it’s ok, I forgive you.”- you gave him a reassuring smile
He then pulled me in for a kiss.
“I love you.”- joe
“I love you too.”- you
“Let’s go inside and dry up.”- joe
“Yeah.”- you laugh
He gives me one last kiss on the forehead and we walk back.
………………………………….
Request: @elly-grace 🩷🩷
Thx for the idea!!!
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